tilt 


II 


seemed  to  be  the  object  of  general  interest* 


AN  ARMY  WIFE 


BY 


CAPT.  CHARLES  KING,  U.  S.  A. 

n 


NEW  YORK: 

HURST  &  COMPANY, 

PUBLISHERS. 


Copyrighted  1896,  by 
F.  Tennyson  Ncely. 

Copyrighted,  IQOI,  by 
Th*  Hobai 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


"SHE   SEEMED  TO  BE  THE  OBJECT  OF  GENERAL  IN- 
TEREST,          Frontispiece 

PAGE. 

"AND   WHY   NOT,    PRAY?" 9 

"'So?'    SAYS    PARRY," 17 

"THEN   TURNED  AWAY," 29 

McLANE,           37 

"CLEARING   THEM    LIKE   A    BIRD,"        ....  47 

"!T  LAY  UNOPENED  IN  HER  LAP,"        ....  55 

"TOOK  THE  HINT  AND  SLOUCHED  AWAY,"  61 

"BATHED  His  TEMPLES  FROM   THEIR  CANTEENS,"     .  69 

SHE  LAID  HER  HAND  ON  His  ARM,     ....  77 

"His  HAND  SOUGHT  OUT  AND  FOUND  HERS,"    .        .  85 

"AND  HER  HOURS  WERE  MAINLY  SPENT  ON  DECK,"     .  93 
BILLY  WHITTAKER,           .        .        .        .        .        .        .101 

THE  RIVALS.     MRS.   MERRIAM  :   "On !   How   GLAD  I 

AM  TO  SEE  You/' 115 

"STARING  INTO  VACANCY  As  SHE  DID  So,"        .        .  123 

"INTENTLY  MERRIAM  EYED  THE  CAPTAIN'S  FACE,"    .  131 

MERRIAM  KNELT  AT  HER  SIDE, 139 

"CAN   THERE  BE  ANY  REASON   WHY   SHE   SHOULD 

WISH  TO   SEE  You — ALONE?"        ....  152 

"DAMN   THOSE   INFERNAL   IDIOTS  !"  161 


912893 


PAGE. 

"COME  RIGHT  ALONG," 177 

THEN  TURN-ED  IN  His  SADDLE  AND  WAVED  HIGH  His 

His   HAT, 183 

"THEN  MRS.  BUXTON  VENTURED  TO  FIRE  A  SHOT,"    .  189 

"You  ALWAYS  CALL  WHEN  FM  WASHING,"        .        .  193 

"ARE   You    FLO    TREMAINE?" 197 

"AM  I  TO  SCATTER  MY  MEDICAL  STAFF  TO  THE  FOUR 

WINDS?"            213 

"  'I  DID  TRY,'   SHE  FALTERED," 221 

FANNY, 229 

HOP  LING, 235 

"You  HELD  THEM  THAT  You  MIGHT  TRIUMPH  OVER 

MY    RUIN," 243 

RANDY  MERRIAM, 249 

HUNG  REVERENTIALLY  BACK  AS  THOUGH  WAITING  PER- 
MISSION  TO  VENTURE   INTO   THE    PRESENCE   OF  A 

QUEEN, 257 

"FLORENCE, — SWEETHEART,"             263 


AN    ARMY   WIFE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THERE  was  more  than  one  reason  why  Fanny 
McLane  should  not  have  accepted  the  Graf- 
tons'  invitation  to  visit  them  at  Fort  Sedgwick. 
Perhaps  that  was  why  she  never  mentioned 
the  matter  to  her  sister,  Mrs.  Parry,  until  that 
lady  surprised  her  in  the  midst  of  the  packing. 

"  IVkere  are  you  going,  Fan?"  was  the  query, 
half -aggrieved,  half -aggressive, — the  tone  in 
which  an  elder  often  addresses  a  younger  sister 
who  has  evidently  presumed  to  contemplate 
some  journey  without  previous  consultation 
and  consent. 

"  I  ?  Why,  I  thought  you  knew.  Going  to 
spend  a  week  or  two  with  the  Graf  tons." 

"The  Graftons!  Fanny  McLane!  You 
don't  mean  you're  going  to  Fort  Sedgwick?'' 

5 


ty\  WIFE. 

"That's  their  station,"  answered  Mrs.  Me- 
Lane,  with  slight  access  of  color. 

Mrs.  Parry  had  not  yet  seated  herself.  She 
was  still  standing  at  the  open  doorway,  glanc- 
ing quickly  from  trunk  to  trunk  in  the  sun- 
shiny but  littered  room.  Now  she  took  a  step 
forward,  hesitated  one  moment  as  she  looked 
at  the  maid-servant  bending  busily  over  a  great 
Saratoga,  and  in  dumb  show  intimated  to  hei 
sister  that  she  wished  that  open-eyed,  open- 
eared  domestic  elsewhere. 

But  Mrs.  McLane  was  blind  to  any  signals 
Indeed  she  seemed  at  the  moment  to  find  it 
necessary  to  supervise  some  of  Annette's  work, 
noting  which  symptom  Mrs.  Parry's  scruples 
vanished. 

"  Fanny,  you  know  perfectly  well  that's  the 
last  place  on  earth  you  should  go  to  now,  and 
Mr  McLane  not  a  year  in  his  grave!" 

A  redder  spot  burns  in  each  fair  cheek,  as 
the  young  widow  turns  quickly  and  faces  her 
acccuser. 

"And  why  not,  pray?  The  Graftons  are 
the  oldest,  dearest  friends  I  have, — at  least 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  7 

"  And  Randy  Merriam — isn't  there,  I  sup- 
pose— nor  his  plain  wife?" 

"Mr.  Merriam 's  whereabouts  is  a  matter  of 
entire  indifference  to  me,  as  you  ought  to  have 
the  decency  to  know,  Charlotte." 

"  Ought  to  be  matters  of  indifference,  I  con- 
cede, but  I  have  grave  doubts  as  to  whether 
they  are,  as  you  say." 

"  Then  keep  your  doubts  and  suspicions  to 
yourself,  Charlotte,"  said  Mrs.  McLane,  with 
brimming  eyes  and  burning  cheeks.  "  This  is 
no  place  to  speak  of  such  matters,"  and  the 
brimming  eyes — which  their  owner  tries  hard 
to  induce  to  blaze  instead  of  brim — turn 
significantly  toward  Annette,  busily  packing 
and  assiduously  feigning  unconsciousness,  and 
then  almost  defiantly  turn  back  to  her  sister. 

"  I  know  perfectly  well  what  you  mean, 
Frances,"  responds  the  elder,  and  when  "Char- 
lotte" and  "  Frances"  were  adopted  instead  of 
"  Lot"  and  "  Fan"  it  meant  that  the  sororal  re- 
lations were  more  than  strained. 

"  I  gave  you  every  signal  ingenuity  could 
suggest,  but  you  wouldn't  see.  You  didn't 
want  to  see,  because  you  thought  that"-— and 


8  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

here  Mrs.  Parry  indicates  the  kneeling  Annette 
with  a  nod  of  her  very  stylish  coifed  head — "that 
would  keep  me  from  speaking.  But  this  is  a  case 
where  duty  cannot  be  neglected.  Fanny,  are  you 
in  your  right  senses?" 

"In  every  one  of  the  seven,  Charlotte,  and  I 
don't  mean  to  listen  to  abuse.  You  know 
perfectly  well  Dr.  Mellon  said  I  needed 
change." 

"Well,  then,  go  to  New  Orleans,  go  to  Ber- 
muda, go  to  St.  Augustine — go  to  St.  Peeters- 
burg,  Fan — anywhere  on  earth  rather  than 
Fort  Sedgwick — anywhere  under  heaven  ex- 
cept where  Randolph  Merriam  happens  to 
be — unless  you  would  have  me  believe  you  lost 

»  But  here,  with  solemn  mien  enters  the  male 
biped  who  officiates  as  butler  hall  boy,  and 
major  domo  at  the  Claredon  Flats — a  card 
upon  the  salver  in  his  pudgy  hand,  and  Mrs. 
Parry  nearly  chokes  in  the  necessity  for  sudden 
stop. 

"Ask  Mr.  Swinburne  up,"  said  Mrs.  Me- 
Lane  promptly,  barely  glancing  at  the  black- 
bordered  ,card  and  evidently  glad  of  the  inter- 


'And  why  not, pray?1 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  f 

ruption.  "Now,  Charlotte,  not  another  word 
unless  you  wish  me  to  show  how  indignant  I 
am  to  every  visitor  who  comes  in,"  and  Mrs. 
McLane  is  busy  bathing  her  flushed  cheeks  al- 
ready. "How  does  my  hair  look?"  she  adds, 
turning  inquiringly  toward  the  defeated  elder, 
sure  that  whatever  cause  of  quarrel  there 
may  be,  that,  at  least,  is  subject  for  truce. 

"Your  hair  is  all  right,"  responds  her  sister, 
with  marked  emphasis  and  as  marked  a  sense 
of  baffled  purpose.  "  I  wish  the  rest  of  your 
head  were  as  well  balanced.  You  don't  ex- 
pect me  to  see  Mr.  Swinburne,  I  suppose?" 

"Mr.  Swinburne  certainly  doesn't  expect  to 
SQQyou.  He  is  coming  mainly  on  business." 

"  You  might  far  better  listen  to  his  business, 
as  you  call  it,  even  this  soon,  than  go  near 
Randy  Merriam." 

"Charlotte,  I  will  not  listen  to  you.  If  you 
cannot  stay  here  without  insulting  me  with 
every  other  word,  you  would  much  better  go 
home  and  stay  home  until  you  can  speak — 
sensibly."  And  with  this  Mrs.  McLane  darts 
past  her  sister  into  the  passageway,  and  so  on 
to  the  parlor  front  of  her  suite  of  apartments. 


io  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

just  as  the  little  electric  indicator  tells  that 
the  elevator  has  stopped  and  that  some  one  is 
at  the  entrance  door.  It  is  Swinburne,  a  well- 
preserved,  mutton-chop  whiskered,  carefully 
groomed  fellow  of  forty-five,  and  Swinburne 
bows  delightedly  over  the  slender  white  hand 
of  the  pretty  and  youthful  widow  and  dis- 
appears with  her  within  the  cosy  parlor. 

"How  long  has  Mrs.  McLane  been  pack- 
ing?" asks  Mrs.  Parry,  presently,  of  the  maid. 

"How  long,  mum?  Oh,  two  or  three  days 
only,  though  we  got  down  the  trunks,  mum, 
on  Wednesday  last,"  is  Annette's  reply. 

"  Four  trunks  and  four  days'  packing  to  'r 
spend  a  week  or  so  at  a  frontier  post,"  says 
Mrs.  Parry  to  herself,  with  increasing  wrath. 
Then  turning,  she  sweeps  through  the  hall- 
way with  the  mien  of  an  offended  queen, 
passes  the  parlor  door  with  barely  a  glance  at 
the  bright,  cheery  interior,  lets  herself  out 
with  a  snap  and  a  slam,  and  stands  angrily 
tapping  her  daintily  booted  foot  on  the  rug  in 
front  of  the  cage  until  the  elevator  noiselessly 
answers  her  signal  and  then  lowers  her  to  the 
mosaic  pavement  of  the  ground  floor.  *  To 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  n 

Mr.  Parry's  office,"  she  says  to  her  coachman 
as  she  enters  the  waiting  carriage,  and  is 
whirled  rapidly  away  down  the  avenue,  past 
the  dancing  waters  of  the  lake. 

"Ned,"  she  cries,  twenty  minutes  later,  as 
she  precipitates  herself  into  Mr.  Parry's 
ground -glass  citadel  at  the  rear  of  the  big 
office,  "what  am  I  to  do?  Fan  is  actually 
packed  and  ready  to  start  for  Fort  Sedgwick— 
where  Mr.  Merriam  is  stationed !" 

Ned  turns  slowly  toward  her,  trying  not  to 
show  in  his  deep-brown  eyes  how  pleased  he 
is  at  the  sight  of  his  handsome  helpmeet. 
"  The  first  thing  you  have  to  do,  Mrs.  Parry, 
when  you  come  to  this  office  for  advice  is  to 
pay  the  customary  retaining  fee,"  he  responds, 
as  he  takes  her  carefully  gloved  hand  in  his 
long  fingers  and  bends  forward  for  a  kiss. 
She  recoils,  pleased,  yet  provoked.  He  should 
have  been  startled  at  her  revelation,  even 
though  he  did  wish  for  her  kiss. 

"  Is  that  the  customary  retaining  fee,  sir?" 
she  asks  demurely,  forgetful  for  the  moment 
of  the  portentous  news  she  brings.  "I  heard 
you  had  quite  a  number  of  feminine  clients." 


12  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

*  So  many  that  my  partners  find  it  as  diffi- 
cult to  straighten  out  their  accounts  as  I  do 
their  stories.     Pardon   me,   Mrs.    Parry,   did 
you  say  I  was  retained?    If  so,"  and  the  jun- 
ior   member  of    the    distinguished    firm    of 
Graeme,  Ray  burn  &  Parry  again  bends  down- 
ward toward  the  glowing  face. 

"You're  absurd,  Ned,  if  that's  what  you 
mean,"  replies  Mrs.  Parry,  secretly  delighted 
at  the  lover-like  ways  of  her  lord.  "I've  a 
mind  not  to  pay — an)'thing.  You  shouldn't 
charge  members  of  the  family." 

"I  don't,"  he  answers  reflectively,  "in  all 
cases.  There's  Aunt  Mildred,  for  instance, 
and  Aunt  Charlotte  and  grandma,  but  you  and 
Fan  now " 

"Fan!    Why  should  she  k — consult  you?" 

*  Why,  do  you  know,  Lot,  I've  never  once 
asked  her.    She  might  select  some  other  fel- 
low in  the  firm  and  k — consult  him." 

"  Ned,  you're  simply  horrid  now.  I  never 
did  like  you  when  you  tried  to  be  funny. 
You  know  I  never  interrupt  you  here  unless 
I'm  troubled  about  something,  and  you're  just 
laughing  at  me  instead  of  sympathizing/1  and 


AN  ARMY  WIFE,  J3 

Mrs.  Ned  pretends  to  pull  away  her  hands, 
but  conspicuously  fails. 

"  One  of  the  first  principles  of  my  large  and 
successful  practice,  Mrs.  Parry,  is  to  secure 
prepayment  of  the  retaining  fee  in  all  cases 
where  I  have  reason  to  believe  the  client 
will  subsequently  act  contrary  to  my  advice. 
When  you  have —  Ah,  that  will  have  to  do, 
I  presume,  though  it  came  with  a  bad  grace. 
And  now  you  say  Fan  is  going  to  Sedgwick?" 

"Yes,  and  Randy  Merriam's  hardly  been 
married  a  month  longer  than  Mr.  McLane's 
been  dead." 

"Astounding  coincidence  1  But  Brandy  is 
married,  isn't  he?" 

"  Randy,  Ned,  not  Brandy — how  your  mind 
runs  to  such  things!" 

"Well,  toward  five  P.M.  the  firm  does  feel 
like  running  to  such  things,  my  best  beloved, 
and  is  only  deterred  from  doing  so  by  the  fact 
that  a  touch  of  the  button  makes  it  do  the  run- 
ning. What  shall  I  order  for  you?"  And 
Mr.  Parry  transfers  her  left  hand  to  its  mate 
reposing  in  his  left,  and  stretches  forth  the 
right  toward  his  desk 


14  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

"I  want  nothing,"  she  answered,  "but  ad- 
vice,  and  no  more  nonsense.  Ned,"  appeal- 
ingly,  "what  ought  I  to  do?  What  can  I  do?" 

"  Are  you  sure  you  can  do  just  what  I  tell 
you,  Lot?"  he  asks,  a  fond  light  playing  in  his 
eyes,  despite  the  half-teasing  smile. 

"Of  course  I  can.     Don't  I — always?" 

"Well — ahem — I  have  known  instances — 
But  you  will  do  just  what  I  say?" 

"Yes,  Ned,  I  will." 

"Then,  your  ladyship,  let  her  go  and  don't 
worry,  /don't,  I  haven't,  a  bit." 

"  Why,  then  you  have  known  she  was  go- 
ing— she  has  told  you?" 

"  She  hasn't.     I  learned  it  from  Swinburne." 

"When?" 

"Three  days  ago." 

"And  you  never  told  me,  Ned!"  reproach- 
fully. 

"  Fact!"  says  Ned,  sagely  and  sententiously. 
"You  would  have  protested.  She  would  have 
been  the  more  obstinately  determined.  There 
would  have  been  a  row,  and  all  to  no  purpose. 
Fan  has  had  her  own  way  since  she  cut  her 
first  baby  tooth,  and  there's  nothing  on  earth 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  JS 

so  independent  as  a  well-to-do  young  widow. 
Swinburne's  found  that  out." 

"Ned,  I  can't  bear  Swinburne,  but  I'd 
rather  she'd  marry  him — as  soon  as  it's  decent 
to  marry  anybody — than  go  out  there  and 
fling  herself  in  Randy  Merriam's  way  again. 
Everybody  knows  the  story." 

"  Yes.  It  was  rather  a  public  exhibition  of 
mitten-giving,  I'll  admit,"  says  Parry  reflect- 
ively, "and  not  two  years  ago  either,"  he 
added.  Then  suddenly — "Lot,  what  sort  of 
fellow  is  Captain  Graf  ton?" 

"A  very  dignified,  majestic  personage — a 
good  deal  older  than  she  is,  you  know,  but 
she's  devoted  to  him  and  he  to  her.  There's  a 
woman  who  doesn't  do  as  she  pleases,  let  me 
tell  you !  Captain  Grafton  will  have  no  non- 
sense going  on  under  his  nose,  and  I'll  tell 
Fan  that  if  she  thinks  to  resume  her  old  flirta- 
tion with  Merriam,  she'll  have  to  blind  Graf- 
ton  first." 

"  My  love,  you  forget  the  compact.  You're 
not  to  tell  Fan  anything  except  good-by. 
Yes — you  may  send  our  regards  to  Merriam 
by  her.  He's  a  particularly  nice  fellow,  if  she 


16  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

did  throw  him  over  for  old  McLane  and  his 
fortune.  And,  Mrs.  Parry,  I  shouldn't  be 
surprised  if  our  particularly  pert  and  pretty 
sister  were  taught  a  very  valuable  lesson. 

Therefore  do  I  say,  let  her  go  Gal I  mean 

let  her  go.  And,  talking  of  going,  suppose 
you  drive  me  home  with  you.  We'll  stop  and 
see  Fan  a  minute — and  Swinburne." 

And  stop  they  do,  finding  the  broker-mag- 
nate still  there,  though  in  evident  straits.  Is 
it  possible  for  a  man  in  love  to  look  pleased  at 
the  coming  of  visitors  in  the  midst  of  even 
a  prolonged  t$te-b-l$te?  Swinburne  doesn't. 
He  looks  infinitely  distressed,  and  Parry 
doesn't  fail  to  remark  it. 

"Hullo,  Swinburne!  Who'd  'a'  thought  of 
seeing  you  here  at  this  hour?  I  supposed  you 
never  missed  a  day  like  this  for  a  drive,  yet 
your  team  isn't  at  the  door." 

"  No — er — I  had  business  to  discuss  with  Mrs. 
McLane  before  her  start  for  the  West — a  jour- 
ney which  I  had  much  hoped  to  hear  Mrs. 
Parry  had  dissuaded  her  from  taking." 

"Oh,  bless  you,  no!"  responds  Parry,  cheer- 
fully.  "The  doctor  advises  change  of  scene 


..;.'.,. ;:     x/ 

V'V   %'' .      *'i  ,  ••''     «    »  •>     '          '       v       ~''J  , 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  I? 

and  air,  doesn't  he,  Fan?  And  Sedgwick's 
the  very  place  for  both.  There's  no  scenery 
within  ten  miles  of  it,  and  there's  more  air 
than  they  know  what  to  do  with  ten  hours  out 
of  twelve.  It  blows  a  blizzard  there  six  times 
a  week,  doesn't  it,  Fan?" 

"  Then  I  presume  the  residents  of  the  post 
must  be  unusually  charming  to  offset  such 
monotony  of  landscape  and  such  objectionable 
climate,"  says  Swinburne  stiffly,  and  looking 
ruefully  at  the  fair  young  widow.  "I  have 
not  the  honor  of  anybody's  acquaintance 
there,"  he  adds. 

"So?"  says  Parry.  "Why,  there's  Cap- 
tain  and  Mrs.  Grafton,  old  friends  of  Fan's, 
you  know — that  is,  Mrs.  Grafton  is,  and  there's 
Lieutenant  Merriam — splendid  fellow,  that! 
We  knew  him  so  well  when  he  was  on  duty  at 
the  Point.  And  there's  Minturn,  of  the  artil- 
lery, there  with  his  battery.  He  used  to  visit 
us  often  when  Merriam  was  philandering 
about  Fan  here.  Oh,  yes,  there's  a  raft  of 
pleasant  people  there." 

^Mrs.  McLane's  pretty  face  at  this  juncture 
is  a  study.     She  is  flushed,  almost  tearful; 


tS  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

ready  to  pull  Ned  Parry's  hair  in  her  wrath, 
yet  hardly  able  to  restrain  her  merriment  at 
sight  of  Swinburne,  who  sits  in  open-mouthed 
dismay  For  downright  mischief  a  brother- 
in-law  has  opportunities  accorded  no  other 
mortal,  and  Parry  is  at  once  her  torment  and 
her  delight.  Mrs.  McLane  has  been  known 
to  say  that  Charlotte  took  a  very  mean  advan- 
tage of  her  in  having  met  him  first  and 
"  landed"  him  before  he  ever  saw  the  sunshine 
of  her  own  lovely  blue  eyes. 

Very  little  alike  were  these  two  sisters,  de- 
spite the  fact  that  they  had  lived  most  of  their 
life  together.  Educated  abroad  by  a  benevo- 
lent aunt  after  the  death  of  their  devoted 
mother,  the  girls  had  returned  to  America  the 
great  year  of  the  Columbian  fetes,  and  Char- 
lotte, the  elder  by  two  years,  had  met  Ned 
Parry,  a  rising  and  successful  lawyer,  before 
they  had  been  home  a  month,  was  engaged  to 
him  before  the  autumn  leaves  were  falling, — 
before  Fan  even  dreamed  that  anything  of  the 
kind  was  in  contemplation,  for  she,  at  the 
moment,  was  having  what  she  termed  a  sim« 
ply  deliriously  delightful  time  at  the  Point 


AN  ARMY  WIFE,  19 

Harriet  Palmer,  her  especial  friend  at  school 
both  at  home  and  abroad,  had  married  Cap- 
tain Grafton  early  that  spring,  Fan  making 
almost  her  first  appearance  in  society  as  one 
of  the  bridesmaids  on  that  occasion,  and  being 
much  impressed  with  the  devotions  of  the 
groomsman  assigned  to  her,  a  handsome,  sol- 
dierly fellow  by  the  name  of  Merriam.  He 
was  an  officer  several  years  the  junior  of  Cap- 
tain Grafton,  but,  being  of  the  captain's  regi- 
ment .and  conveniently  stationed  at  West 
Point,  he  had  been  called  into  requisition  with 
others  of  his  cloth,  and  a  very  pretty  wedding 
they  had  had.  And  then,  as  luck  would  have 
it,  Grafton  himself  was  offered  a  detail  at  the 
Academy,  and  rather  than  take  his  bride  to  the 
far  frontier  so  soon  after  their  marriage,  he 
accepted  it,  and  there  they  spent  the  summer; 
and  there,  in  July,  Miss  Frances  Hayward 
joined  them  at  Mrs.  Graf  ton's  urgent  request, 
and  there  did  Mr.  Randolph  Merriam  fall  deep- 
ly and  devotedly  in  love  with  her,  and  no  one 
wondered.  By  far  and  away  she  was  the 
prettiest  girl  at  the  Point  that  summer,  and 
Merriam  was  conceded  to  be  a  mighty  lucky 


20  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

fellow  when,  very  soon  after  the  announce* 
ment  of  Charlotte  Hay  ward's  forthcoming 
marriage  to  Edward  Parry,  he  allowed  him- 
self to  be  congratulated  upon  his  engagement 
to  her  younger  sister. 

And  he  had  every  right  to  consider  himself 
engaged.  She  had  accepted  his  attentions,  his 
devotions,  eventually  his  ring  and  also  his 
presents.  He  had  called  upon  Aunt  and  Un- 
cle Mellen  in  New  York,  the  guardians  of  the 
girls,  and  startled  them  out  of  all  equanimity 
by  the  announcement  that  Miss  Hayward  had 
accepted  the  offer  of  his  heart  and  hand  con- 
ditioned only  en  their  consent,  which  ht  be- 
sought them  to  give. 

"  I  own  I  never  thought  of  her  marrying  in 
the  army,'.'  said  Aunt  Charlotte,  as  do  other 
aunts  and  mothers  after  their  girls  have  been 
campaigning  at  the  Point. 

"What  income,  if  any,  have  you  outside 
your  pay?"  was  Uncle  Mellen 's  more-to-the- 
point  interrogation. 

"Nothing,  sir." 

"  Well,  neither  has  she.  That  is,  what  she 
has  is  so  small  it  wouldn't  keep  that  extrava- 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  21 

gant  child  in  gloves.  You  two  had  better  be 
sensible  and  think  it  over." 

Randy  Merriam  did  think  it  over,  but  all  to 
no  purpose.  The  more  he  thought,  the  more 
he  declared  himself  hopelessly  and  irrevocably 
in  love,  and  as  Miss  Fan  took  kindly  to  his 
protestations,  and  Parry  and  Charlotte  took 
kindly  to  him  and  sympathized  with  the  sol- 
dierly fellow,  who  was  evidently  much  of  a 
gentleman  and  so  much  in  love,  it  resulted  in 
his  being  made  welcome  at  Parry's  club,  re- 
ceived quite  as  Parry  was  at  the  Mellens — 
since  not  oftener  than  once  a  week  could  he 
get  away  from  his  duties  at  the  Point,  and 
when  Ned  and  Charlotte  were  married,  as 
they  were  in  state  and  style  early  in  the  win- 
ter, Merriam  had  many  a  good  reason  for  be- 
lieving that,  despite  his  poverty,  the  next 
wedding  reception  held  at  the  Mellens'  beau- 
tiful home  would  be  one  in  which  he  would  be 
vitally  interested. 

Well,  he  was;  but  not  in  the  way  or  man- 
ner expected.  In  fact,  he  did  not  attend  the 
ceremony  or  the  reception ;  indeed,  he  was  not 
bidden.  A  very  disagreeable  thing  hap- 


9»  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

pened  to  him  within  a  month  after  the  Parry- 
Hayward  wedding,  one  that  overwhelmed  him 
with  mortification  and  distress,  and  caused  no 
little  indignation  among  his  comrades. 

Everybody  knew  Randy  Merriam  was  in 
debt.  He  made  no  secret  of  it.  He  was  ex- 
travagant in  his  tastes,  had  incurred  obliga- 
tions before  going  on  duty  at  the  Point,  and 
found  it  impossible  to  "catch  up"  there. 
There  were  three  or  four  accounts  he  had 
been  asked  to  settle,  as  they  had  been  run- 
ning some  time,  but  he  put  them  off  from 
month  to  month,  hoping  that  he  might  soon 
be  able  to  obtain  possession  of  a  small  sum  of 
money  left  him  by  the  will  of  a  relative  two 
years  before.  It  was  only  a  few  thousand  dol- 
lars, yet  even  that  had  been  contested,  to- 
gether with  a  number  of  similar  bequests,  and 
the  legal  complications  had  been  as  exasperat 
ing  as  the  law's  delay  could  make  them.  One 
day,  soon  after  Charlotte's  wedding,  Merriam 
was  summoned  to  the  presence  of  the  super- 
intendent and  was  regretfully  told  that  four  of 
his  creditors  had  united  in  an  appeal  to  the 
War  Department,  and  the  matter  had  been 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  23 

referred  to  him  as  post  commander.  Merriam 
was  confounded.  He  had  seen  and  talked 
with  one  of  them  only  a  few  weeks  before, 
and  no  such  action  haa  even  been  hinted  at. 
Nor  did  he  know  that  any  one  of  their  number 
was  aware  of  his  indebtedness  to  the  others. 
Frankly  he  had  told  Miss  Fan  of  these  matters 
before  he  told  her  of  his  love,  but  it  made, 
apparently,  no  impression  on  her.  "  Let  them 
wait,"  she  said.  "You'll  soon  be  able  to  pay 
them  ten  times  over."  Frankly  he  had  talked 
of  it  to  one  or  two  of  his  intimates,  and  later 
to  Parry,  who  had  grown  to  like  him,  and  who, 
as  a  lawyer,  thought  his  little  inheritance  could 
not  be  much  longer  withheld.  It  would  free 
him ;  it  would  very  prettily  furnish  their  quar- 
ters and  still  leave  a  few  hundreds  to  the  fore. 
He  remembered,  too,  that  Uncle  Mellen  had 
made  some  inquiries  of  him,  and  that  in  per- 
fect frankness  he  had  replied.  And  now,  just 
at  the  moment  when  he  was  full  of  hope  and 
happiness,  came  this  cruel  mortification. 
Such  action  on  the  part  of  his  creditors  was 
unaccountable,  but,  as  the  superintendent  said, 
it  was  a  solemn  fact.  Deeply  chagrined,  h« 


24  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

told  the  colonel  the  whole  story,  and  the  colo. 
nel  was  full  of  sympathy,  but  as  full  of  sense. 

"I'm sorry,  Merriam,"  said  he,  "but  there's 
only  one  thing  for  you  to  do.  There's  no 
telling  when  you'll  ever  get  that  inheritance. 
When  lawyers  once  get  hold  of  an  estate  it's 
dollars  to  dimes  nobody  else  ever  does,  and 
by  the  time  judgment  is  awarded  in  your 
favor,  it  will  be  eaten  up  in  fees  and  innumer- 
able charges.  You  cannot  count  on  a  cent  of 
it.  You  cannot  save  anything  to  speak  of 
here.  Just  capitalize  those  debts  of  yours; 
borrow  the  money  from  some  business  man  on 
reasonable  time  and  interest,  get  your  life 
insured  in  his  favor,  and  go  out  and  join  your 
troop.  We  can  have  you  relieved  as  at  your 
own  request,  and  once  out  on  the  frontier  you 
can  save  so  much  a  month,  and  little  by  little 
pull  yourself  out." 

And  leaving  his  pretty  sweetheart,  his 
chosen  friends,  and  pleasant  surroundings,  this 
was  exactly  what  Randy  Merriam  did.  Ned 
Parry,  with  a  puzzled  look  on  his  face,  had 
listened  to  his  mournful  recital,  had  promptly 
offered  his  services  and  his  bank  account,  and 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  25 

made  but  one  stipulation:  "Don't  you  go 
near  those  fellows,  Merriam.  Let  me  have 
the  bills  and  I'll  send  you  the  receipts,"  for 
Parry  had  a  theory  of  his  own. 

Sedgwick  was  as  dreary  a  post,  so  far  as 
surroundings  were  concerned,  as  could  be 
found  in  the  West.  It  stood  on  a  pebbly 
mesa,  flat  and  barren,  overlooking  the  narrow, 
tortuous,  shallow  canon  through  which  rip- 
pled the  waters  of  the  San  Mateo.  Across  the 
western  horizon  hung  a  low,  jagged  curtain  of 
distant  blue  mountains.  Far  away  to  the 
northwest  a  snow-peak  shimmered  in  the  daz- 
zling sunshine,  but  north,  east,  and  south  the 
low  rolling  contour  of  the  prairie,  like  the 
ground  swell  of  the  ocean,  was  lost  in  illimit- 
able monotony.  The  only  trees  were  some 
willows  down  in  an  arroyo  that  emptied  its 
rivulet  after  a  rain-storm  into  the  stream. 
The  only  green  things  were  the  blinds  and 
vines  upon  the  piazas  of  the  officers'  quarters. 
Yet  Sedgwick  was  a  big  post,  an  important 
post,  for  a  great  Indian  reservation  lay  only 
twenty  miles  away  toward  the  mountains. 
Two  lines  of  railway  met  at  the  junction 


26 

three  miles  down  stream,  and  by  riding  a 
few  miles  westward  one  came  suddenly  upon 
a  fertile  valley, where  grass  and  trees  abounded, 
and  where  all  nature  seemed  to  smile,  and 
where  by  rights  the  old  post  should  have  been 
located;  but  all  that  was  Indian  reservation 
when  Sedgwick  was  built,  and  not  until  long 
after  did  the  territorial  officials  succeed  in  get- 
ting  it  lopped  off  from  Lo's  allotment  and 
thrown  open  to  settlement.  Along  the  bow- 
ery shades  of  the  Santa  Clara  were  now 
ranches  by  the  dozen,  and  a  hundred  or  more 
of  enterprising  settlers,  and  between  them 
and  the  thronging  garrison  at  Sedgwick  was 
peace  and  good  will  and  every  kindly  relation, 
when  Randy  Merriam  came  out  in  the  Decem- 
ber of  the  Columbian  year,  determined  to  take 
his  punishment  like  a  man.  He  had  sworn  off 
cigars  and  extravagances  of  any  and  every 
kind.  For  a  time  he  even  declined  to  sub- 
scribe to  the  hops,  which  were  charming 
affairs,  for  the  band  was  excellent  and  the 
regiment  blessed  with  many  lovely  and  lov- 
able women.  "  Merriam  spends  all  his  money 
in  stamps, "  was  the  comment  of  the  garrisoa 


AN  ARMY    WIFE.  *7 

wits,  for  he  wrote  day  after  day  to  his  distant 
darling  in  the  East.  That  winter  Ned  Parry 
accepted  the  junior  partnership  in  the  great 
firm  of  Graeme  &  Rayburn  in  Chicago,  and 
moved  thither  with  his  lovely  wife,  while  Fan 
remained  with  Aunt  and  Uncle  Mellen  in 
Gotham,  pining,  presumably,  for  her  far-away 
soldier  boy,  and  yet  writing  much  less  fre- 
quently than  he  did,  for  the  demands  of  soci- 
ety were  incessant  and  auntie  kept  her  "on 
the  go." 

One  day  in  April  there  came  a  letter  from 
the  East  at  sight  of  which  Randy  Merriam's 
face  was  radiant  with  joy.  It  briefly  told  him 
that  the  long  litigation  was  over  and  that  some 
thirty-five  hundred  dollars,  all  that  was  left  of 
the  original  six  thousand,  were  at  his  disposal. 
Jubilantly,  confidently  then,  he  wrote  to  Fanny 
to  name  the  day,  and  in  course  of  time  there 
came  a  reply,  long,  self-accusing,  penitent, 
miserable,  but  all-sufficient.  The  day  was 
named,  and  so  was  the  man— Mr.  John  Har- 
old McLane,  of  N^w  York,  a  wealthy  widower 
of  fifty  fiva 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  wedding  of  Miss  Hayward  and  Mr. 
McLane  followed  so  speedily  the  announce- 
ment of  the  engagement  that  elderly  club 
men,  long  years  the  chums  of  the  groom, 
barely  had  time  to  concoct  suitable  forms  of 
compliment  and  congratulation.  The  recep- 
tion which  followed  the  ceremony,  however, 
was  on  such  a  scale  of  magnificence  as  to  leave 
little  room  for  doubt  that  the  Mellens  had  long 
been  preparing  for  the  event.  The  business 
relations  existing  for  a  decade  between  Uncle 
Mellen  and  John  McLane  were  well  under- 
stood. Indeed  the  match  was  declared  to  be 
of  Uncle  Mellen's  making,  and  the  whole 
transaction  was  openly  referred  to  by  younger 
club  men  as  a  most  Mellencholly  affair.  Char- 
lotte Parry  went  on  from  Chicago  to  attend  it, 
but  Ned,  her  devoted  lord,  pleading  very 
pressing  professional  engagements,  positively 

refused  to   go.     He  wrote   -   letter  to  Uncle 

aS 


**  Then  turned  away? 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  25 

Mellen  about  that  time,  however,  which  gave 
other  reasons  for  his  non-attendance,  and  to 
which  the  recipient,  after  several  attempts, 
found  it  impossible  to  reply.  Mrs.  Parry  hast- 
ened back  to  Chicago  immediately  after  the 
reception,  and  from  that  day  neither  she  nor 
her  husband  set  foot  within  the  Mellens'  doors* 
Aunt  Charlotte  'declared  the  conduct  of  her 
niece  most  undutiful,  ungrateful,  unaccount- 
able, but  her  husband  said  nothing. 

The  bride  was  a  vision  of  girlish  beauty, 
that  bright  June  wedding  day,  and  McLane 
was  as  handsome  and  well-preserved  a  fellow 
of  fifty-five  as  even  New  York  could  show.  He 
was  evidently  deeply  in  love  and  immeasurably 
proud  and  happy.  As  for  the  lady,  she  looked 
to  the  full  as  joyous  and  radiant  as  any  lover 
lord  could  ask,  and  her  manner  toward  Mc- 
Lane, much  "more  than  twice  her  years" — 
nearly  three  times,  in  fact — was  sweet,  shy, 
appealing,  and  trusting,  all  in  one.  Many  wo- 
men in  society,  old  and  young,  enviod  her, 
and  everybody  appropriately  congratulated 
him  and  wished  her  joy.  Mac's  plan  for  the 
honeymoon  included  a  yachting  tour  through 


#>  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

the  Scottish  Isles  and  so  on  to  North  Cape, 
but  Fan  surprised  him.  She  had  seen  so  much 
of  Europe,  she  said,  and  so  little  of  their  own 
country.  Couldti't  they  go  to  Chicago  for  the 
World's  Fair,  and  then  to  Niagara  and  down 
the  St.  Lawrence,  and  through  the  White 
Mountains  and  the  Catskills?  So  this  they 
did,  coming  back  to  Gotham  for  a  round  of 
receptions  and  social  gayeties  in  the  late  au- 
tumn, then  going  to  Florida  and  thence  to 
New  Orleans  for  the  Mardi  Gras,  and  then 
Fan  begged  to  be  taken  to  Coronado  and  Mon- 
terey. She  longed,  she  said,  to  see  Southern 
California,  and  the  "  Sunset  Route"  bore  them 
within  three  miles  of  old  Fort  Sedgwick  on 
their  westward  way. 

The  Graftons  were  still  at  West  Point. 
There  was  only  one  officer  at  the  post  whom 
she  knew,  and  none  who  were  known  to  her 
husband.  It  was  five  o'clock  of  a  soft,  sun- 
shiny February  afternoon,  one  of  those  match- 
less days  for  which  the  valley  of  the  Rio  Bravo 
is  famous.  McLane  was  playing  "dummy"  in 
the  smoking-room.  The  youn^  wife  was 
yawning  over  a  book.  She  was  looking,  it 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  $1 

must  be  owned,  not  only  bored,  but  somewhat 

dusty  and  dishevelled,  and  she  was  conscious 
of  the  fact,  which  made  her  look  still  worse. 
She  was  remarking  how  baked  and  dry  and 
dreary  and  monotonous  was  the  landscape, 
and  wondering  where  they  were  and  what  was 
the  name  of  those  far-away  blue  mountains 
under  the  fiery  path  of  the  sun — geography 
was  not  one  of  her  strong  points — when  the 
train  slackened  speed  and  rolled  slowly  into  a 
station  that  seemed  more  populous  than  any 
recently  passed,  and  there  stood  another  train, 
almost  the  counterpart  of  their  own,  and  on 
the  station  platform  of  what  was  evidently  a 
connecting  road  were  groups  of  swarthy, 
cigarette-smoking  Mexicans,  a  few  stolid,  si- 
lent Indians,  and  then — was  it  possible?  styl- 
ishly, fashionably  dressed  women,  and  officers 
in  riding  garb,  and  there  at  the  platform  stood 
waiting  ambulances  and  orderlies  with  led 
horses,  and  the  sound  of  merry  chat  and 
laughter  came  floating  in  at  the  open  window, 
and  people  occupying  sections  on  the  left  side 
of  the  Pullman  crossed  over  to  her  side,  and 
gazed  with  all  their  eyes.  "  What's  tie  name 


32  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

of  this  station?"  some  one  asked  the  por 
ter.  "Santa  F£  Junction,"  was  the  answer. 
"Yawnduh's  Foht  Sedgwick,  three  miles  out 
there  on  the  mesa." 

Fanny  McLane's  heart  gave  a  sudden  jump 
The  train,  which  had  stopped  an  instant  be 
fore  crossing  the  other  track,  moved  slowly 
on,  and  then  under  the  grip  of  the  air-brakes 
came  to  a  stand  beside  the  platform,  and,  con- 
scious that  she  was  looking  her  worst — look- 
ing yellow,  in  fact — she  drew  back  from  the 
window  and  hastily  lowered  the  shade.  Then 
merry  voices  and  laughter,  and  light,  bound- 
ing footsteps  were  heard  at  the  head  of  the 
car,  and  in  came  a  joyous  party,  officers  and 
ladies.  A  tall,  slender  girl  seemed  the  ob- 
ject of  general  interest,  and  her  bundles  and 
wraps  were  deposited  in  the  opposite  section 
by  one  officer;  another  bore  a  brand-new  bag, 
another  a  bunch  of  beautiful  roses,  and  ten 
women  hung  about  the  girl  and  kissed  her 
and  cooed  over  her;  and,  with  the  experienced 
eye  of  her  sex,  Mrs  McLane  needed  only  one 
glance  at  the  pretty  stylish  travelling  suit,  at 
the  jaunty  little  hat,  at  the  slender  tapering 


ARMY   WIPE.  $3 

boot,  all  so  new  and  glossy,  to  realize  at  once 

that  here  was  a  bride — an  army  bride — and 
one  beloved  of  her  kind,  for  one  women  after 
another  clung  to  her  as  they  kissed,  and  many 
eyes  were  wet,  and  all  were  filled  with  love 
and  trust  and  tenderness.  "God  bless  you, 
Floy,  darling'"  cried  one  enthusiastic  girl. 
"I'm  so,  so  glad  we've  got  you  in  our  regi- 
ment. I  was  so  afraid  the  Riflers  would  never 
let  you  go."  And  this,  too,  seemed  an  all- 
pervading  sentiment  among  the  men  whose 
caps  were  decorated  with  crossed  sabres,  while 
others,  who  wore  the  badge  of  the  infantry, 
and  their  wives  and  daughters,  seemed  to 
have  another  song  to  sing.  "Florence,  you 
broke  our  hearts  by  marrying  out  of  the  regi- 
ment, but  at  least  we'll  soon  have  you  back  at 
Sedgwick,"  was  the  purport  of  what  was  said 
by  more  than  one  of  their  number. 

Then  came  warnings  to  leave  the  train. 
The  conductor  was  shouting  "All  aboard!" 
and,  bearing  her  with  them,  they  rushed  tu- 
multuously  to  the  rear  platform.  Then,  very 
slowly  at  first,  the  car  began  to  move,  and  the 
other  occupants  of  the  Pullman  poked  their 


34  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

heads  out  of  the  windows  and  looked  back 
along  the  platform,  as  acclamations  followed 
them.  But  Mrs.  McLane  still  shrank  behind 
the  lowered  shade,  her  heart  beating  strangely, 
and  her  ears  .  straining  as  though  to  catch  the 
tones  of  a  voice  long  unheard,  last  heard 
only  with  sweet  emotions.  Manly  tones  were 
shouting  Godspeeds  and  good-byes.  Wom- 
anly voices  were  adding  their  inconsiderate 
pleas  for  letters,  and  then  as  the  speed  in 
creased  and  the  voices  died  away,  the  passen- 
gers slipped  back  to  their  sections  and  strove 
not  to  seem  to  be  on  the  watch  for  the  return 
of  the  bride.  It  was  quite  a  little  while  before 
she  reappeared.  Mrs.  McLane  was  conscious 
she  was  coming  because  of  the  backward 
glances  of  her  fellow-travellers,  and,  under 
their  long  lashes,  her  own  eyes  took  their  eager, 
sidelong  peep.  She  came  slowly,  a  tall  sol- 
dierly form  in  gray  travelling  garb  close  at 
her  side,  one  arm  half  encircling,  half  sup- 
porting her.  She  had  evidently  been  weeping 
a  little,  for  as  she  seated  herself  and  looked 
fondly  up  in  his  face  the  great  lustrous,  deep- 
brown  eyes  were  wet  with  tears,  but  the  face 


I 

AN  ARMY  WIFE.  35 

was  glorified  by  the  love  and  trust  that  shone 
in  them.  A  broad-shouldered  back,  bending 
devotedly  over  the  girl,  was  about  all  Fanny 
McLane  could  see  of  the  escort,  but  it  was 
enough  to  cause  her  heart  to  stand  suddenly 
still.  She  felt  as  though  she  were  choking,  as 
though  she  must  have  air.  Then  she  heard 
his  voice,  deep-toned,  manly,  tender,  the  very 
tones  her  ears  had  been  straining  to  hear  a 
few  minutes  before,  and  then  springing  from 
her  seat,  her  handkerchief ,  raised  to  and 
shrouding  her  face,  she  too  hurried  to  the 
rear  door  of  the  car  and  stood  there  clinging 
to  the  rail  for  support.  The  man  in  gray,  the 
devoted  bridegroom,  was  Randolph  Merriam. 

And  there  at  the  rear  door  she  hovered  until 
the  clouds  of  choking  dust  drove  her  within. 
It  was  the  men's  encj  of  the  car,  and  fragrant 
cigar-smoke  was  drifting  from  the  room  in 
which  her  husband  and  his  cronies  were  play- 
ing whist.  If  only  the  long  car  were  turned 
end  for  end!  If  only  she  could  get  her  bag 
and  reach  the  women's  toilet-room  unobserved. 
Let  him,  and  his — and  that  girl — see  her  look- 
ing as  she  was  now? — not  for  worlds!  Get  to 


9 

36  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

that  toilet-room  and  wash  away  the  grime  and 
dust  and  cinders,  get  out  her  alcohol  lamp  and 
curl  that  rebellious,  stringy  "front,"  and  prink 
and  powder  and  retouch  those  faded  lashes 
and  brows — all  this  she  must  do  before  facing 
him  and  her.  But  how  to  get  there  without 
being  seen.  She  must  pass  them  so  close  as 
almost  to  touch  his  shoulder.  No !  A  furtive 
peep  from  behind  the  brown  curtain  into  the 
dim  interior  revealed  the  broad  gray  shoulders 
bent  far  over  to  the  girl's  end  of  the  seat.  He 
was  leaning  over  her,  looking  down  into  her 
eyes,  talking  earnestly  to  her.  There  was  no 
comfort  in  the  sight.  It  stung  her  to  instant 
action.  They  were  running  swiftly  down 
grade  now,  following  the  windings  of  the  San 
Mateo,  but  she  made  a  rush  for  her  section, 
grabbed  the  handsome  silver-mounted  bag  that 
lay  just  within  reach,  and  with  bowed  head 
and  bent  form  was  hastening  on,  when  the 
forward  trucks  struck  a  sharp  curve,  the  big 
car  gave  a  sudden  lurch  that  tumbled  her  into 
the  section  directly  in  front  of  the  blissful 
couple,  and  sprawled  her  ignominiously  upon 
the  front  seat  The  occupant  of  the  othei; 


Me  L  an^. 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  37 

was  a  snoring  commercial  traveller-  Her  bag 
dropped  in  the  crash,  fell  to  th^  floor,  and 
burst  open,  and  before  she  could  recover  her* 
self  or  its  contents,  the  man  in  gray  had 
sprung  to  her  aid,  had  bundled  an  escaping 
scent-flask  and  other  trifles  back  into  the  re- 
ceptacle,  shut  its  silver  lips  with  a  snap,  and, 
bowing  courteously,  endeavored  to  restore  it. 
Averting  her  face — covering  it  almost  with 
her  handkerchief — she  strove  to  rise  and  go 
her  way,  but  the  car  still  swayed  and  swung. 
He  put  forth  a  helping  hand  to  lift  her  to  her 
feet,  but  she  did  not  see  it.  Scrambling  out, 
still  hiding  her  face,  she  seized  again  her 
satchel,  and,  never  looking,  never  speaking, 
hurried  past  him  and  disappeared  at  the  for- 
ward end  of  the  car,  leaving  Merriam  gazing 
blankly,  fixedly  after  her. 

"  Didn't  she  speak  to  you  at  all?"  asked  the 
bride,  a  moment  later,  as  Merriam,  with  a 
strange,  dazed  look  on.  his  face,  returned  to 
his  seat  by  her  side.  "  I'm  afraid  she's  dread- 
fully hurt,  for  her  knee  struck  the  seat-arm 
ever  so  hard." 

And  still  Merriam  could  not  speak. 


38  AN  ARMV   WIFE. 

"What  is  it,  Randy?"  she  whispered,  after 
a  moment's  anxious  study  of  his  face.  "You 
look  so — unlike  yourself." 

With  an  effort  he  pulled  himself  together. 
"Did  you  see  her  face,  Floy,  dear?  What 
was  she  like?" 

"Why,  she's  a  blond  with — I  only  got 
a  glimpse,  Randy — she's  a  blond  with  light 
hair  and  blue  eyes.  She  might  be  pretty. 
Why,  dear?"  And  the  dear  came  so  timidly. 

"  I  thought — I  had  seen  her  before,  but  it's 
impossible — absurd.  Go  on  and  tell  me  what 
Mrs.  Grafton  wrote  you,  sweetheart.  Never 
mind  the  capsized  blond  just  now." 

But  he  himself  could  "mind"  no  one  else 
when,  half  an  hour  later,  there  came  tripping 
down  the  aisle  from  the  ladies'  toilet-room  a 
slender,  graceful,  stylishly  draped  figure  with 
such  a  radiantly  pretty  girl-woman  face — a  fair, 
sweet  blond,  with  lovely  curling  hair,  the 
brightest  of  big  blue  eyes,  the  rosiest  of  tiny 
mouths,  with  glimpses  of  snow-white  teeth  as 
she  smilingly  approached  and,  with  infinite 
grace,  held  out  a  prettily  gloved  hand. 

"  To  think  that  I  should  have  been  here  in 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  39 

time  to  tender  my  congratulations!  Won't 
you  present  me  to  Mrs.  Merriam?" 

And  Randolph  Merriam,  for  once  in  his  life, 
was  utterly  at  a  loss  what  to  say  or  do.  He 
could  hardly  speak.  He  could  hardly  breathe. 
"Floy,"  he  finally  said — and  his  tone  was 
strange  and  cold,  "this  is  Mrs.  McLane,  of 
New  York,  an  old — acquaintance,"  then  turned 
away  as  Mrs.  McLane  effusively,  delightedly 
bent  over  that  she  might  shake  hands  with 
the  bride. 

It  was  early  evening — too  early  for  twilight 
effects,  yet  the  shadows  were  falling  thick  on 
Florence  Merriam 's  wedding-day  before  the 
setting  of  the  glowing  sun. 


CHAPTER   in. 

Two  days  after  the  receipt  f^i  tb4  announce* 
ment  of  Fanny  Hayward's  cnga^ment  to  Mr. 
McLane  and  a  few  weeks  before  the  marriage, 
Randolph  Merriam  had  left  Fort  Sedgwick  in 
command  of  a  detachment  of  cavalry  escorting 
a  government  survey  to  the  Mescalero  Range. 
It  was  not  his  tour.  The  detail  belonged  to 
Harrison,  a  younger  officer,  who  had  been  sav- 
ing up  all  winter  for  a  two  months'  leave  and 
a  cnanre  to  spend  his  savings  at  the  great 
Exposition  at  Chicago.  A  relentless  colonel 
would  allow  him  no  leave,  because  it  was  his 
turn  for  field  duty,  and  because, so  many  offi- 
cers wished  to  go  to  the  Fair  that  it  was  out  of 
the  question  to  expect  any  one  to  offer  to  take 
the  detail  for  him.  The  detachment  would  be 
in  the  field  at  least  three  months,  possibly 
four.  Harrison,  consequently,  was  the  bluest 
man  at  Sedgwick,  and  said  more  hard  things 
about  government  surveys,  and  more  improper 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  4* 

things,  than  could  well  be  recorded  here. 
Everybody  had  been  congratulating  Merriam 
on  the  final  receipt  of  what  the  lawyers  didn't 
"scoop"  of  his  little  legacy,  and  for  two  weeks 
he  had  been  as  happy  as  Harrison  was  miser- 
able. Then,  to  the  utter  amaze  of  everybody, 
just  the  day  before  it  was  time  for  the  com- 
mand to  start,  it  was  announced  that  Harri- 
son's application  for  leave  had  gone  forward 
approved,  and  that  Merriam  had  asked  for 
and  been  granted  the  luxury  of  a  three  or  four 
months'  jog  through  the  roughest  and  most 
forbidding  of  mountain  ranges.  He  had  even 
got  the  colonel's  permission  to  go  ahead  and 
wait  for  the  detachment  at  the  old  Mission  on 
the  Santa  Clara,  and  had  started  late  at  night, 
accompanied  only  by  an  orderly.  People 
couldn't  believe  their  ears,  and  the  post  com- 
mander rejoiced  in  the  possession  of  a  secret 
even  his  wife  couldn't  coax  out  of  him — the 
conscienceless,  crabbed  old  crank!  as  one  of 
his  garrison,  not  subject  to  court-martial,  de- 
scribed him.  The  adjutant  had  to  admit  that 
Merriam  had  been  closeted  with  the  K.  O. 
nearly  half  an  hour,  and  had  looked  black  and 


42 

blue  both,  but  no  blacker,  no  bluer,  when  he 
came  out  than  when  he  went  in.  No,  he  did 
not  think  that  anybody  else  had  complained 
of  Merriam's  owing  him  money.  He  did  not 
think  anybody  had  had  a  word  to  say  against 
him.  The  old  man  had  simply  sent  for  the 
adjutant  right  after  the  interview  and  re- 
marked: "Mr.  Blossom,  you  can  tell  Mr.  Har- 
rison he  may  submit  that  application  for  leave 
and  I'll  forward  it  approved.  Mr.  Uerriam 
has  my  consent  to  take  that  escort  in  his 
stead."  But  hadn't  he  told  anybody?  Didn't 
anybody  know?  were  the  very  natural  ques- 
tions asked.  No.  Merriam's  one  intimate 
and  chum  in  his  regiment  was  Bill  Whittaker, 
and  Bill  was  away  up  at  Santa  Fe  at  the  time, 
a  witness  before  a  general  court-martial. 
Merriam  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  Haynes' 
quarters,  and  everybody  knew  that  in  his  own 
regiment  he  had  no  warmer  friends  than  Cap- 
tain and  Mrs.  Lawrence  Hayne,  of  the  Riflers, 
and  Merriam  had  had  a  long  talk  with  Hayne 
before  calling  on  the  colonel.  But  no  one 
who  knew  either  Hayne  or  his  charming  wife 
ever  thought  of  trying  to  extract  from  them 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  43 

information  as  to  other  people's  personal  af- 
fairs. Old  Buxton,  the  dragoon-of-the-old- 
army-sort  of  a  lieutenant-colonel,  did  try  to 
pump  the  captain,  but  was  most  coolly  and 
civilly  snubbed  for  his  pains.  Buxton  was  a 
man  Hayne  never  spoke  to  except  in  the  most 
formal  way.  There  had  been  some  trouble 
between  them  ever  so  long  ago,  when  Hayne 
was  a  young  second  lieutenant  and  "  Bux" 
the  senior  captain  of  the  — th  Cavalry.  The 
softening  touch  of  time  had  effaced  much  of 
the  bitterness  of  that  old,  old  story,  Hayne 
had  twice  been  stationed  at  the  same  garrison 
with  Buxton,  and  found  it  awkward  to  pre- 
serve the  rule  of  non -intercourse  with  a  field 
officer  who  was  frequently  in  command,  so  be 
spoke  respectfully  and  courteously  to  his  sen- 
ior whenever  they  met,  but  the  courtesy  was 
as  cold  and  the  meetings  as  rare  as  he  could 
make  them.  Bux,  however,  "bore  no  malice," 
as  he  said,  and  was  quite  ready  to  be  magnan- 
imous and  forgive  Hayne  for  what  had  tran- 
spired in  the  past,  but  then  Buxton,  not  Hayne,* 
had  been  the  offender.  Indeed,  Buxton  was  a 
pachyderm  on  whom  snubs  had  little  effect 


44  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

He  believed  Hayne  knew  why  Merriam  had 
asked  for  his  most  undesirable  detail,  and  so 
importuned  him  with  eager  inquiry — all  to  no 
purpose.  Harrison  blissfully  went  in  to  Chi- 
cago and  Merriam  out  to  the  Mescalero,  and 
was  no  more  heard  of  or  from  for  several 
weeks.  Then  the  news  came  that  he  was  se- 
riously ill  with  mountain  fever  at  the  canton- 
ment on  Catamount  Creek,  and  Bill  Whittaker 
was  hurried  thither  to  take  over  the  command. 
In  a  week  there  came  a  letter  from  him  to 
Captain  Hayne,  and  this  was  what  it  said : 

.  "  I  found  the  dear  old  boy  convalescing,  but 
wofully  limp  and  weak.  Tremaine  says  he 
was  wild  as  a  loon  when  the  men  brought  him 
in.  They  saw  that  he  was  burning  with  fever 
for  days,  and  begged  him  to  go  to  the  canton- 
ment for  medical  attention,  but  he  bade  them 
mind  their  own  business  and  obstinately  stuck 
to  the  work.  The  gentlemen  of  the  survey 
soon  saw  that  he  was  going  flighty  and,  later, 
.delirious,  and  they  took  the  responsibility  of 
telling  the  sergeant  he  must  be  sent  thither. 
They  made  a  fore-and-aft  litter  by  lashing  sap- 
lings together,  hitched  on  a  couple  of  pack- 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  45 

mules,  roped  Randy  inside  the  thing,  and 
made  a  four-day  march  of  it.  Luckily,  Tre- 
maine  had  a  capital  medical  officer  and  Randy 
a  splendid  constitution.  The  fever  had  a  big 
start,  but  Dr.  Wells  and  Tremaine's  people 
were  utterly  devoted  to  him,  and  pulled  him 
through,  but  you  never  saw  such  a  living  skel- 
eton. Dr.  Wells  says  he  will  mend  rapidly 
now,  as  he  eats  about  six  square  meals  a  day 
and  is  hungry  between  times.  Mrs.  Tre- 
maine  nursed  him  like  a  mother,  Heaven 
bless  her!  and  now  Miss  Florence  reads  to 
him  by  the  hour." 

And  at  this  point  in  Whittaker's  innocent 
missive,  Mrs.  Hayne,  who  was  clinging  to  her 
husband's  arm  and  reading  with  him,  sud- 
denly looked  up  in  his  face  and  said,  "Oh, 
Lawrence!  wouldn't  that  be — almost  ideal?" 

"  Floy"  Tremaine,  as  she  was  called  in  the 
regiment,  was  an  only  child,  born  and  reared 
in  the  Riflers.  Two  years  of  her  life  had 
been  spent  in  the  East  at  school,  but  with  that 
exception  it  had  known  no  companionship  or 
association  outside  the  garrison  that  was  the 
temporary  home  of  her  father's  company, 


4*  AN  ARMY  W&  VL 

An  open-air,  joyous,  healthful  life  it  was,  ad- 
mirable for  nerves,  arteries,  and  digestion,  yet 
destructive  to  complexion,  for  at  fifteen  Floy 
Tremaine  was  as  brown  as  a  Navajo,  when 
they  took  her  to  St.  Anne's  to  school,  where 
she  was  promptly  dubbed  "the  Squaw."  The 
first  six  months  there,  despite  the  fact  that 
her  mother  was  near  at  hand,  took  a  good  deal 
of  heart  out  of  Florence  and  some  of  the 
prairie  tan  from  her  face.  Her  big,  soft, 
brown  eyes  grew  even  more  eloquent  and 
pathetic,  and  her  pretty  mouth  gained  some 
wistful  lines  about  its  sensitive  corners.  She 
did  not  take  to  city  girls  nor  did  they  to  her, 
until  her  father  came  in  on  leave,  and,  noting 
the  change  in  his  precious  child,  took  counsel 
with  an  old  Manhattan  friend,  ordered  a  swell 
riding-costume  forthwith,  and  bade  her  join 
the  class  at  Dickel's  Academy — not  that  she 
needed  teaching  to  ride,  but  the  exercise  and 
open  air  to  be  had  in  the  daily  demure  canter 
in  the  park.  One  or  two  of  the  girls  were 
quite  dashing  horsewomen,  and  excited  the 
envy  and  admiration  of  their  classmates  by  the 
ease  with  which  they  took  the  conventional 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  47 

leaps  at  the  hurdles  and  bars ;  and  when  one  of 
them,  flushed  with  triumph,  after  receiving 
the  compliments  of  the  master,  reined  up  be- 
side our  silent  Florence,  on  a  rainy  afternoon 
when  their  ride  had  to  be  within  doors,  and 
rather  patronizingly  queried,  "Ah,  don't  you 
do  something  of  this  sort  out  on  the  plains, 
Miss  Tremaine?"  Florence  reddened  a  bit 
and  said,  "The  children  do  sometimes,"  which 
led  to  prompt  inquiry  as  to  her  meaning,  and 
the  explanation  that  the  cavalry  horses  and 
even  the  Indian  ponies  would  tafce  such  obsta- 
cles in  their  stride  and  hardly  rise  to  the  leap 
at  all.  Asked  to  illustrate  she  put  her  bay  at 
the  hurdles,  clearing  them  like  a  bird;  then, 
turning  to  Miss  De  Ruyter,  she  said:  "You 
noticed  even  this  horse  hardly  had  to  spring. 
Now  if  Mr.  Dickel  will  let  me  have  the  bar  a 
foot  higher  I  can  she  w  you  where  he  has  to 
exert  himself  a  bit;"  and  she  did,  and  no  other 
one  of  the  girls  dared  attempt  it.  Then  she 
isked  to  have  her  saddle  removed  and  rode 
her  horse  over  the  hurdles  bareback,  and  when 
he  was  going  at  an  easy  canter  about  the  ring 
amazed  the  class  by  leaping  lightly  off  and  on 


48  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

again,  her  slim,  strong  young  hands  grasping 
the  mane,  yet  never  dragging  upon  the  rein. 
This  made  her  envied,  but  hardly  enviable, 
for  the  erstwhile  champions  of  the  school  gave 
it  out  that  she  had  been  a  "  child  wonder"  in 
some  far-western  circus.  It  wasn't  until  Flo's 
second  year  at  St.  Anne's  that  she  began 
to  find  either  friends  or  appreciation  there. 
When  she  left  at  the  close  of  that  second  year, 
there  was  one  set  at  least  among  whose  mem- 
bers she  was  well-nigh  worshipped.  She  had 
ttot  finished  the  course.  She  needed  at  least 
one  more  year,  said  the  teachers,  but  it 
couldn't  be.  Tremaine  had  listened  to  the 
tempter,  invested  his  scant  savings  in  a  Colo- 
rado mine  that  for  one  year  gave  dividends 
galore,  and  then — gave  out.  There  could  be 
no  separate  establishment  maintained  on  the 
pay  of  a  captain  of  infantry,  who  was  keeping 
up  a  heavy  life  insurance.  Florence  and  her 
mother  were  recalled  to  the  Riflers,  and,  to 
still  further  promote  the  economy  demanded 
by  their  misfortune,  Captain  Tremaine  begged 
to  be  allowed  to  go  to  the  cantonment  on  the 
Catamount,  relieving  with  his  company  a  like 


AN   ARMY    Wlf&<  49 

force  that  had  been  there  in  exile  over  a  year. 
People  at  regimental  headquarters  thought  it 
absolutely  heartless  in  him  to  take  Mrs.  Tre- 
maine  and  dear  Florence  to  such  a  desert, 
so  near  the  Navajos  to  the  north,  and  so 
exposed  to  danger  from  predatory  bands  of 
Apaches  from  across  the  Arizona  line.  But 
neither  Mrs.  Tremaine  nor  Florence  shared 
their  views.  Floy  was  to  have  uer  books, 
her  birds,  her  horse;  her  mother  could  di- 
rect her  reading,  and,  as  for  companionship, 
there  was  Mrs.  Lee,  the  wife  of  their  first  lieu- 
tenant; she  was  barely  twenty-five,  and  a 
charming  young  matron ;  and  Jimmy  Crofton, 
their  junior  sub,  was  engaged  and  would  soon 
bring  his  bride  out  to  join.  She  didn't  doubt 
that  they  would  have  a  perfectly  lovely  time, 
hunting,  fishing,  exploring  in  the  mountains, 
and  riding  races  down  the  Catamount.  Flor- 
ence's face  would  glow  with  enthusiasm;  it 
would  become  transfigured,  radiant — yes,  al- 
most pretty,  said  some  of  the  ladies — so  proud 
did  she  seern  to  feel  at  sharing  her  father's 
lot.  So,  though  few  agreed  that  Florence 
was  a  beauty,  all  decreed  that  she  was  a  trump. 


50  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

a  fond  and  dutiful  daughter,  a  sweet,  sunny- 
natured  child,  who  would  make  a  lovely  woman 
and  wife  one  of  these  days.  "Only,"  said 
MrSc  Hayne,  with  a  world  of  tenderness  in 
her  tone — "  only  I  hope  it  may  be  the  right 
man.  Girls  with  those  big  brown  eyes  love 
so  deeply." 

The  cantonment  turned  out  to  be  something 
of  an  Eden  as  an  army  post.  Four  companies 
had  once  been  stationed  there,  so  there  was 
lots  of  room,  but  after  the  last  lot  of  Apache 
marauders  had  been  translated  to  the  shores 
of  the  Atlantic,  matters  aboriginal  quieted 
down  in  Arizona  and  western  New  Mexico. 
The  cavalry  were  needed  elsewhere,  and  could 
not  easily  be  supplied  at  so  isolated  a  post;  so 
the  two  troops  were  marched  back  to  the 
valley  of  the  Bravo,  and  then,  soon  after  Tre- 
maine  moved  thither,  it  was  decided  to  recall 
one  of  the  two  infantry  commands  maintained 
there;  that  sent  Captain  Thompson  back  to 
headquarters,  and  left  only  the  Tremaines, 
the  Lees,  and  Dr.  Wells,  for  Jimmy  Crofton's 
fianctis  father  had  got  him  away  on  detached 
service ;  and  this  was  the  commissioned  society 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  51 

left  at  Catamount  when  Randy  Merriam,  borne 
in  a  litter,  delirious,  and  wearing  the  willow 
for  Fanny  McLane,  was  brought  in  to  be 
nursed  and  coddled  back  to  health  again,  and 
Tremaine  made  ready  for  him  a  big,  airy  room 
under  his  own  roof. 

Not  for  six  weeks  was  Randy  'able  to  ride 
again,  and  states  have  been  lost  and  won  in 
less.  There  is  little  need  of  dwelling  on 
the  progressive  stages  of  the  unpremeditated 
siege.  Billy  Whittaker  got  there  compara- 
tively early  in  the  game,  when  convalescence 
had  just  begun  to  be  assured — when  Florence, 
shy  and  soft  of  voice,  was  just  beginning  the 
daily  readings  aloud  to  her  patient — readings 
which,  as  such,  began  soon  to  shorten,  though 
reader  and  audience  remained  long  and  longer 
in  each  other's  presence.  By  and  by  the  book 
was  but  a  superfluity.  It  lay  unopened  in  her 
lap,  as  she  sat,  with  downcast  eyes  and  flushing 
cheeks,  beside  the  hammock  wherein  her  hero 
patient  lay,  and  the  anxious  mother  noted 
how,  little  by  little,  the  girl's  soft,  silvery 
tones  would  become  hushed, — how  his  voice, 
deep  and  strong  again,  yet  tender  and  sub- 


J3  AN  ARMY  WIP&. 

dtied,  would  take  up  the  thread  of  some  old, 
old  story ;  and  one  day  in  alarm  she  fled  to  hex 
husband's  study,  for  Florence  was  weeping  in 
her  room. 

"Do  not  interfere  by  look  or  word,"  said 
that  wise  man.  "  He  will  be  well  enough  to 
rejoin  his  fellows  in  the  field  next  week,  and 
they'll  soon  get  over-it.  If  they  don't— they 
can  get  married.  That  will  put  an  end  to  it." 

"But think,"  persisted  his  better  half;  "it's 
Florence  I'm  troubled  about.  It's  she  who 
may  not  soon  get  over  it.  Hers  is  a  deep " 

But  here  the  captain  arose  and  amazed  hi* 
wife  by  taking  her  in  his  arms  and  speaking 
with  a  choking  sob, in  his  voice. 

"  Don't  talk  of  it,  Dot !"  he  said.  "  I'm  the 
one  to  blame.  I  never  thought  of  Brownie  as 
anything  but  a  child  until  three  days  ago. 
I've  been  praying  you  wouldn't  see  it — that 
there'd  be  nothing  more  to  see,  but — "  and 
here  the  gray  stubble  about  the  captain's 
mouth  began  to  twitch  and  work  convulsively, 
and  he  had  to  stop. 

"  You  know  he  was  engaged — to  somebody — 
East  and  it  was  broken  off,"  said  Mrs,  Tre- 


ARMY  WIPR.  S3 

maine,  "and  I  hadn't  thought  of  danger  until 
just  a  day  or  two  ago  Now — if  he's  going 
next  week,  as  he  says — and  she  has  learned  to 
care  for  him,  what  can  we  do?" 

"He  is  going  next  week,"  said  Tremaine. 
"  He  told  me  yesterday  he  ought  to  go  now, 
and  wished  to  go  now.  It  was  Wells  who  for- 
bade. But  Grafton  always  liked  Merriam  and 
Hayne  believes  in  him.  Our  Florence  might 
do  worse,  Dot.'* 

"But  do  you  understand?"  she  said,  "do 
you  realize  that,  just  from  proAxmity  perhaps, 
Florence  may  have  learned  to  care  for  him, 
while  he  is  still  thinking  of  his  lost  love?" 

"  You  mean  that — you  think  it  all  Florence 
and  not  Merriam?"  he  asked,  starting  back, 
and  holding  her  from  him,  and  looking  with 
amaze  and  incredulity  into  her  eyes — straight 
into  her  anxious,  tearful  face.  "Why,  Dot, 
it  isn't  possible!  She — he — he  must  have 
learned  to  care  for  her.  It  couldn't  be  other- 
wise. Only  I  hadn't  thought  of  Floy  except 
as  a  child,  and  I  wasn't  prepared." 

Like  many  another  father,  to  whom  a  daugh- 
ter is  as  the  apple  of  the  eye,  Tremaine  could 


54  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

see  no  fault,  no  failing  in  his  child.  To  him 
she  was  the  fairest,  as  she  was  the  best,  fond- 
est, most  dutiful  girl  in  the  whole  army.  One 
of  his  favorite  plans  had  been  to  take  her  to 
West  Point  the  previous  summer,  and  let  her, 
as  he  said  to  himself,  "paralyze  the  corps." 
One  of  the  sweet  dreams  he  had  often  dreamed 
was  of  the  evening  when,  with  Florence  on  his 
arm,  he  should  re-enter  the  old  mess  hall, 
which  he  had  not  visited  since  it  was  bravely 
decked  for  th  : 3 th-of- August  hop,  the  year  of 
his  marriage.  He  had  promised  to  take  her 
thither  for  the  graduating  ball,  and  had  pic- 
tured her  as  the  belle  of  the  occasion,  sought 
eagerly  by  the  cadets  as  their  partner  for  waltz 
or  "two-step;"  and,  as  in  his  eyes  she  was  the 
most  perfect  creature  that  ever  lived  or  moved, 
his  one  anxiety  was  lest  the  boys  in  gray,  al- 
ways susceptible,  should  forget  that  Floy  was 
only  a  child  and  fall  in  love  with  her  forth- 
with.  It  never  occurred  to  him  as  a  possi- 
bility that  Floy  in  her  turn  might  fall  in  love. 
But  there  was  no  delicious  visit  for  Florence 
to  the  Point  that  year.  The  moment  exami- 
aations  were  over  at  school  her  mother  started 


ARM  JK    VTIF&*  55 

with  her  for  the  far  West,  and  Tremaine  met 
them  at  Santa  Fe  Junction.  Then,  after  one 
brief  week  at  Sedgwick,  they  had  started  for 
the  cantonment,  and  there  had  led  their  un- 
eventful life  until  the  coming  of  Randy  Met- 
riam,  prostrate,  with  the  days  of  another  June. 
And  now,  while  Florence  was  in  tears  and  hid- 
ing in  her  pretty  room  above  stairs,  this  er- 
rant, erring,  invalid  warrior,  with  no  word  or 
sign  of  being  himself  sorely  heart-smitten, 
was  determinedly  talking  of  going  back  forth- 
with to  the  mountain  trails.  Tremaine  would 
not  let  his  beloved  helpmeet  speak,  either  to 
Florence  or  to  Merriam,  but  he  fully  meant  to 
say  more  words  than  one  to  Merriam  himself, 
and  then  he  bethought  him  of  Dalrymple,  and 
the  famous  frock  that  doughty  major  donned 
whenever  he  sallied  forth  to  ask  the  intentions 
of  O'Malley's  dashing  light  dragoons,  and  this 
reflection  gave  him  pause.  If,  either  by  acci- 
dent or  design,  the  heart  of  his  precious  child 
had  become  wrapped  up  in  Merriam,  then 
Merriam  should  not  leave  the  post  without  an 
explanation  But  there  was  yet  time.  It 
might  be  that  the  poor  fellow  was  really  sore 


S6  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

smitten  himself,  and  that  the  tender  but  un- 
conquered  heart  of  his  daughter  was  touched 
with  pity  for  his  suffering. 

Meantime  the  culprit  officer  himself  had 
been  carefully  lifted  into  the  doctor's  buggy, 
and  with  that  excellent  practitioner  was  en- 
joying a  drive.  The  one  thing  Wells  could 
not  understand  was  that,  while  his  patient 
rapidly  gained  in  health,  flesh,  and  appetite, 
he  seemed  so  to  droop  in  spirits.  Not  one 
word  had  he  been  told  of  Merriam's  broken 
engagement,  beyond  what  Mrs.  Tremaine  had 
imparted,  and  she  could  give  but  scanty  infor- 
mation. Merriam  was  grateful  for  all  the  care 
and  attention  lavished  upon  him,  grateful  for 
returning  strength,  for  sunshine,  fresh  air,  and 
the  brisk  drive  along  the  shores  of  the  wind- 
ing Catamount,  but  Merriam  was  silent,  smiled 
but  seldom,  and  laughed  not  at  all.  Merriam 
was  plainly  troubled,  and  that  night,  when 
Mrs.  Tremaine  asked  her  friend  the  doctor 
how  his  patient  enjoyed  the  drive,  that  gentle- 
man replied  that  if  it  did  him  good  he  gave 
no  sign.  "I  believe,"  said  he  "that  Merri- 
am's in  love,  and  that's  why  I  cannot  under- 


57 

stand  his  eagerness  to  get  back  to  his  troop. 
And  the  mother  leaped  with  hope.  She,  too, 
had  had  other  plans  for  Florence  than  that  she 
should  marry  a  subaltern  officer;  but  if  by 
chance  Floy  had  chosen  for  herself  and  fallen 
in  love  with  one,  it  could  not  have  been  with- 
out some  persuasion,  some  pleading  on  his 
part.  It  must  be  that  he  was  the  first  to  love 
and  to  plainly  show  it. 

That  night  Florence  was  very  quiet.  She 
read  aloud  to  her  father,  as  was  her  custom, 
and  clung  to  him  as  he  kissed  her  good-night. 
Merriam  had  gone  early  to  his  room,  as  though 
fatigued  by  the  drive  or  rendered  drowsy  by 
the  unaccustomed  motion  in  the  air.  Some- 
where about  three  in  the  morning  there  was 
an  unusual  sound  of  voices  in  excited  talk 
near  the  guardhouse,  and  Tremaine  awoke 
and  was  dressing  hurriedly,  when  rapid  steps 
came  up  the  walk,  and  the  sergeant  of  the 
guard,  with  a  dust-covered  courier,  stood  at  his 
door.  They  bore  a  note  from  Whittaker.  A 
serious  row  had  occurred  between  some  of  the 
troop  and  a  party  of  miners  and  prospectors 
who  had  been  camping  near  them  for  three 


58  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

days.  Pistols  were  drawn,  with  the  result  that 
one  miner  was  killed,  two  troopers  and  one 
prospector  were  seriously,  perhaps  mortally, 
wounded,  and  several  others  were  injured, 
Could  Dr.  Wells  come  out  to  them  at  once  for 
a  few  hours,  at  least,  and  was  Merriam  able  to 
ride?  The  young  prospector  who  was  so  seri- 
ously wounded  had  begged  to  see  him,  as  he 
had  important  information  for  him,  and  bade 
them  tell  Mr.  Merriam  that  his  name  was  Me- 
Lane,  a  son  of  the  man  who  was  about  to 
marry  Miss  Hayward.  A  pencilled  note  in  a 
closed  envelope  accompanied  the  verbal  mes- 
sage for  Merriam. 

Florence,  listening  at  her  half -open  door  as 
the  captain  read  Whittaker's  dispatch  aloud  to 
her  mother,  shrank  back  to  her  bedside,  cov- 
eder  her  face  with  her  hands  and  sank  to  her 
knees.  It  was  thus  she  was  found  a  few  mo- 
ments later.  Merriam,  aroused  by  the  un^ 
accustomed  sounds,  had  lighted  his  candle 
and,  partially  dressed,  came  forth  into  the 
broad  hallway  of  the  commanding  officer's 
quarters,  and  Tremaine  met  and  gave  him  the 
message  and  the  note,  which  latter  Randy 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  S9 

tore  open  and  read  with  staring  eyes.  For  a 
moment  he  stood  confounded,  then  turned 
sharply  to  Tremame:  "Now,  sir,  I've  got  to 
go,  and  go  at  once — when  Wells  does,"  then 
turned  and  hurried  to  his  room. 

The  captain  himself  aroused  his  post  sur- 
geon, told  him  the  news,  and  bade  him  see  and 
quiet  Merriam  as  soon  as  possible.  The  dawn 
was  breaking  and  the  rosy  light  was  in  the 
eastern  sky  when  the  doctor  reached  his  pa- 
tient, finding  him  fully  dressed  and  rapidly 
stowing  in  his  saddle-bags  the  simple  articles 
of  a  soldier's  toilet. 

"This  won't  do,  Randy.  You're  not  fit  to 
stir,"  said  he.  But  his  determination  oozed 
when  Merriam,  with  white  face,  turned  and 
said: 

"More  than  my  life's  at  stake  here,  doc- 
tor— it's  a  woman's  honor,  and  I'm  going,  live 
or  die." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

STRANGE  to  say,  the  journey  back  to  the 
Mescalero  seemed  to  benefit  rather  than  in- 
jure Merriam.  The  doctor  vainly  endeavored 
to  restrain  him — to  induce  him  to  shorten  the 
long  days'  marches,  but  Merriam  declared  he 
was  never  so  well  as  when  in  saddle,  and  that 
nothing  wearied  him  so  much  as  waiting.  If 
anything,  he  seemed  less  jaded  than  his  physi- 
cian when,  on  the  third  day,  they  reached  the 
bivouac  of  the  little  command,  and  Billy  Whit- 
taker  welcomed  them  to  a  supper  of  bacon  and 
frijoles,  and  calmed  Merriam 's  feverish  impa- 
tience by  the  news  that  the  civilian  who  had 
so  desired  to  see  him  was  still  alive,  conscious, 
but  sinking  rather  than  gaining.  The  miners' 
camp  was  a  mile  away.  The  dead  had  been 
buried,  and  the  feud  dropped  with  the  brief 
prayers  with  which  the  bullet-riddled  body 
was  consigned  to  earth.  Wells*  first  duty  lay 

with  the  two  troopers,  who  were  in   bitter 

60 


11  Took  the  hint  and  slpuched  away.*\ 


- 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  61 

plight,  and  no  morsel  of  food  passed  his  lips 
until  he  had  ministered  to  them.  Then  Mer- 
riam  had  to  wait  until  he  had  swallowed  some 
coffee,  and  then,  taking  Whittaker  with  them, 
they  rode  forward  to  a  branch  of  the  canon, 
where  at  nightfall  they  came  HI  view  of  the 
fires  of  the  little  camp.  Wells  made  prompt 
examination  of  the  wounded  man,  and  came 
out  from  the  rude  shelter  under  which  he  lay, 
glanced  at  Whittaker  and  shook  his  head. 
Presently,  with  a  dazed  look  on  his  face,  Mer- 
riam  reappeared.  "Billy,"  said  he,  "stand 
here  and  see  that  there  are  no  eavesdroppers. 
I— :know  some  of  this  poor  fellow's  people, 
and  he  has  messages  to  send."  The  two  or 
three  hangers-on  took  the  hint  and  slouched 
away.  "  I  may  need  you  to  witness  his  state- 
ment later,"  he  whispered.  "Come  in  if  I 
call,  but  let  no  one  else  hear  ns." 

For  half  an  hour  the  low  murmur  of  voicet 
came  from  within  the  "shack,"  as  darkness 
settled  down  upon  the  scene.  Then  both 
Wells  and  Whittaker  were  summoned,  and  by 
the  dim  light  of  a  camp  lantern  they  knelt 
beside  the  pallet  ~?  the  dying  man.  MYoo 


62  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

know  both  these  gentlemen,  by  reputation,  at 
least,"  said  Merriam  gently,  though  his  eyes 
were  gleaming,  his  lips  quivering,  and  his 
hands  trembling  with  some  strong  and  strange 
emotion.  "  In  their  presence  I  desire  you  to 
read  over  this  statement  that  I  have  written 
from  your  dictation.  If  it's  entirely  right  say 
so,  sign  it,  and  they  will  witness  your  signa- 
ture, but  will  have  no  knowledge  of  its  con- 
tents." 

For  a  few  minutes  hardly  a  sound  save  the 
deep  breathing  of  three  powerful,  soldierly 
men  and  the  feeble  gasping  of  the  sufferer 
broke  the  stillness  of  the  rude  shelter.  The 
wounded  man  lay  propped  on  Merriam's  shoul- 
der, but,  through  weakness  from  his  long  ill- 
ness and  the  mental  excitement  of  the  moment, 
the  latter's  trembling  grew  so  marked  that 
Whittaker  quickly  slipped  his  left  arm  under 
the  drooping  head  and  drew  his  friend  away. 
McLane  seemed  to  gain  strength  from  the 
vigor  of  this  new  support,  though  he  could  do 
no  more  than  whisper  thanks.  Presently  he 
beckoned  to  Merriam  and  pointed  to  a  line  on 
the  page. 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  63 

^l  said  she  was  over  forty-three — "  he  be- 
gan, then  Merriam's  hand  was  slipped  over 
his  mouth. 

"  I'll  make  any  corrections  you  wish,  but  do 
not  speak  of  what  is  there,"  said  he,  and  with 
his  fountain-pen  he  erased  a  word  and  wrote 
•another.  Then  the  sufferer  nodded.  "It  is 
iall  right  now,"  he  whispered,  and  taking  the 
pen  was  lifted  to  a  half-sitting  posture  and 
feebly,  scratchily  wrote  as  follows:  "John 
Harold  McLane,  Jr.,  aged  25,  born  June  ist, 
lC^7,  Sacramento,  California,  Died  June  — , 
1892,  Mescalero  Mountains,  N.  M."  Then, 
dropping  the  pen,  he  fell  back  to  his  rude  pil- 
lew,  panting  and  exhausted.  Wells  quickly 
gave  him  stimulant ;  then  he  and  Whittaker 
affixed  their  names  as  witnesses.  A  moment 
later,  while  the  surgeon  remained  with  his 
patient,  the  two  young  officers  clasped  hands 
outside. 

"You're  weak  as  a  child  yet,  Randy.  What 
is  it,  old  boy? 

"My  God !  I  can't  afford  to  be  weak  now," 
was  the  fierce  answer.  "IV*  got  to  act — tc 
do  as  I  never  did  before,  How  long  should  it 


AN  ARMY 


take  our  best  rider,  our  lightest  rider,  to  reach 
the    railway.     Telegrams    must   go   East  at 


once." 


"If  he  take  the  back  trail — the  one  you 
came  in  by  from  Sedgwick — five  days  and 
nights,  least  count.  If  he  go  around  by  the 
cantonment  for  fresh  horses,  perhaps  seven." 

"  My  God !  my  God !"  cried  Merriam.  "  Even 
two  days  may  be  too  long.  You're  in  com- 
mand, Billy.  I  can  give  no  orders,  but  that 
courier  must  start  before  moonrise  to-night. 
Don't  ask  me  to  tell  you  why." 

And  within  the  hour,  with  a  sealed  packet 
addressed  to  Captain  Lawrence  Hayne,  — th 
Infantry,  Fort  Sedgwick,  a  slim  little  Irish 
trooper  was  loping,  all  alone,  jauntily  back 
toward  the  valley  of  the  Bravo,  smacking  his 
lips  in  anticipation  of  the  good  liquor  await* 
ing  him  at  Santa  F£  Junction  the  moment  his 
duty  was  done.  Five  days  and  nights  had  he 
before  him  of  lonely  ride  through  a  desolate, 
almost  desert  land,  stopping  only  when  neces- 
sary to  feed  and  water  and  rub  down  his 
horse,  build  his  little  fire  and  cook  his  slab  of 
bacon  and  brew  the  battered  pot  of  coffee, 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  65 

and  snatch  such  sleep  under  the  stars  as 
was  possible,  braving  Indians,  rattlesnakes,  or 
mountain  lions  without  a  tremor  for  the  sake 
of  an  Irishman's  pride  in  his  troop,  his  love 
of  dangerous  duty,  and  his  full  assurance  of  a 
good  time  at  the  journey's  end. 

Another  day  and  a  rude  grave  was  dug  in 
the  canon,  and  the  doctor  read  the  simple  ser- 
vice of  the  church  over  the  shrouded  form  of 
the  young  prospector;  and  then,  against  that 
doctor's  wishes  but  not  without  his  reluctant 
consent,  Lieutenant  Merriam,  with  an  escort 
of  two  troopers,  started  in  person  to  ride  by 
the  shortest  trail  to  Sedgwick. 

It  was  now  the  6th  of  June.  It  would  take 
him  nearly  a  week  to  reach  and  cross  the 
Santa  Clara.  It  might  take  him  eight  days  to 
Sedgwick,  and  every  hour  seemed  a  day. 
Meantime  Dr.  Wells  set  about  having  litters 
made  for  the  two  wounded  troopers,  and  by 
the  tenth  of  the  month  had  them  safely  in 
hospital  at  the  cantonment.  He  found  Tre- 
maine  looking  anxious,  even  angered,  Mrs. 
Tremaine  troubled  on  more  than  one  account, 
apparently,  and  Florence  pale  and 


66  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

"Did  Mr.  Merriam  send  no  letter?"  asked 
Mrs.  Tremaine,  after  he  had  told  something 
of  their  experiences. 

"  There  was  no  time  to  write.  He  begged 
me  to  give  you  his  love  and  gratitude,  to  give 
it  to  all,  and  to  say  he  would  write  in  full  the 
moment  he  got  to  Sedgwick.  Oh,  yes,  he  is 
better — much  better,  but  the  nervous  strain 
may  bring  on  a  return  of  the  fever, "  said  the 
doctor.  Something  of  solemn  consequence, 
Wells  knew  not  what,  had  carried  Merriam 
back  to  the  railway.  He  might  have  to  go 
East  at  once. 

But  Randy  never  reached  the  railway. 
Hayne  received  and  read  in  startled  amaze 
the  contents  of  the  packet  brought  by  the  cou- 
rier, and  sent  at  once  from  the  Junction  two 
telegraphic  messages :  One  to  Mr.  Ned  Parry, 
of  the  firm  of  Graeme,  Rayburn  &  Parry,  of 
Chicago;  the  other  to  Mr.  Abraham  Mellen, 
New  York  City;  received  from  the  latter 
neither  acknowledgment  nor  reply,  and  from 
the  former  the  brief  words:  "The  marriage 
took  place  forty-eight  hours  ago." 

Without  any  delay,  taking  only  a  single 


67 

orderly,  Captain  Hayne  rode  away  north' 
westward,  past  the  Santa  Clara,  past  the  old 
Mission,  and  so  motmtainward  until  the  blue 
barrier  of  the  Mescalero  turned  to  gray  and 
green,  and,  almost  within  its  shadows,  just  as 
the  second  setting  sun  drooped  behind  its 
massive  crest,  he  met  the  trio  from  the  Cata- 
mount— Merriam,  a  haggard,  but  determined 
rider,  far  in  the  lead.  There  was  no  time  for 
salutation. 

"What  answer?"  demanded  the  lieutenant 
abruptly  and  with  wide,  burning,  bloodshot 
eyes 

"Too  late,"  said  Hayne,  "too  late  by  forty- 
eight  hours." 

"You  don't  mean,"  gasped  Merriam,  "that 
they  are  married  already?" 

"That's  what  Parry  wires,"  was  the  brief 
response.  "  Here's  the  dispatch." 

For  a  moment  Merriam  sat  in  saddle,  a 
dazed,  stupefied  look  in  his  bloodless  face. 
Then  his  eyes  closed  and  he  seemed  about  to 
swoon.  Hayne  sprang  from  his  panting  horse 
just  as  Merriam 's  wearied  escorts  came  lum- 
bering to  the  spot.  Together  they  lifted  him 


68 

from  his  seat  and  bore  him  to  a  little  patch  of 
grass,  bathed  his  temples  from  their  can- 
teens  and  gave  him  a  goutte  of  cognac.  They 
made  what  frontier  troops  call  a  "  dry  camp" 
that  night,  just  there  where  the  two  parties 
met.  There  was  fuel,  a  little  grass,  but  no 
water  beyond  what  they  had  in  their  canteens, 
and  with  the  contents  of  one  of  these  Hayne 
brewed  a  pot  of  tea  while  one  of  the  men 
cooked  their  frugal  supper.  They  needed  no 
other  canopy  than  that  of  the  heavens  in  that 
rare,  dry  atmosphere,  and  with  the  stars  for 
night  lights  and  the  waning  moon  to  peep  in 
upon  their  slumbers  later  and  start  the  gaunt 
coyotes  at  their  querulous,  unregarded  sere- 
nade, the  troopers  slept,  or  seemed  to  sleep> 
until  dawn.  Twice  Hayne  awoke  to  find  Mer- 
.riam  staring  with  burning  eyes  at  the  radiant 
vault  aloft,  but  he  wanted  nothing,  needed 
nothing.  He  could  not  sleep  for  thinking,  he 
explained,  and  when  the  morning  came  the 
fever  was  with  him  again,  and  Corporal  Tracy 
galloped  northward  along  the  foothills,  a  long 
day's  ride,  to  fetch  once  more  the  doctor  from 
the  cantonment,  and  with  Wells  came  the  am- 


M  Bathed  his  temples  from  their  canteens?' 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  «9 

bulance.  The  cantonment  lay  fifty  miles  away 
to  the  north,  Sedgwick  a  hundred  to  the  south- 
east. It  was  the  nearest  port  in  the  storm. 

This  time  Tremaine  would  have  had  fitted 
up  for  him  a  room  in  the  big,  airy  hospital, 
but  his  better-half  intervened. 

"It  would  never  do  after  our  having  had 
him  here  before,"  she  said.  "He  must  have 
his  old  room  under  our  roof  and  everything 
he  had  before — except  Florence." 

But  when,  after  ten  days  of  burning  fever 
and  desperate  illness,  Randolph  Merriam 
seemed  again  to  realize  where  he  was,  and 
how  weak  he  was,  and  how  good  they  had 
been  to  him,  the  first  name  he  whispered,  the 
first  thing  he  asked  for,  looked  for,  seemed  to 
long  for  was  Florence — and  they  let  her  come. 


CHAPTER  V. 

IT  was  October  before  the  surveyors  finished 
their  work  in  the  Mescalero  Mountains  and 
Merriam  and  his  men  were  recalled  to  Sedg- 
wick.  Late  in  July  Billy  Whittaker  had  been 
relieved  by  his  restored  comrade,  and  returned 
to  headquarters;  he  lost  no  time  in  calling 
on  the  Haynes,  and  between  him  and  that 
charming  little  army  matron,  Mrs.  Hayne, 
there  were  exchanged  significant  smiles  and 
knowing  looks,  and  not  a  few  confidential 
words,  to  all  of  which  the  blond,  Norse-look- 
ing  captain  and  husband  seemed  to  give 
hearty  approval.  And  letters  from  the  can- 
tonment— long  letters — came  to  Mrs.  Hayne 
from  her  friend  Mrs.  Tremaine,  and  long, 
loving,  blissful  missives  from  Florence,  and 
when  the  Haynes,  father  and  mother,  boys 
and  girls,  all  presently  went  in  to  Chicago  for 
a  month  at  the  fair,  it  leaked  out  in  some  way 
that  Mrs.  Hayne  left  freighted  with  mysteri- 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  7i 

ous  commissions  from  her  friends  at  the  Cata- 
mount, Tremaine's  reverses  permitting  no  such 
extravagance  as  a  journey — especially  in  view 
of  the  many  new  and  lovely  items  that  women 
decreed  as  indispensable  now.  And  presently 
it  was  known  at  Sedgwick  that,  despite  his 
complete  recovery,  Mr.  Merriam  seemed  to 
find  it  necessary  to  leave  the  detachment  in 
the  mountains  and  make  frequent,  even  haz- 
ardous rides,  with  only  a  single  orderly,  down 
deep  into  the  canon  of  the  Catamount,  and  so 
on  back  to  Wells  and  the  cantonment.  Long 
before  the  Haynes  returned  from  Chicago, 
therefore,  the  sweet  secret  was  out,  and  all 
Fort  Sedgwick  was  talking  of  Merriam 's  en- 
gagement to  Floy  Tremaine.  She  was  but 
eighteen ;  he  twenty-eight.  She  was  shy,  sen- 
sitive, an  idolized  daughter.  There  were  times 
when  she  was  actually  lovely,  so  deep  and  ten- 
der were  her  eyes,  so  winning  her  smile,  soft 
and  caressing  her  voice.  He  was  stalwart, 
soldierly,  fine-looking  certainly,  but  a  man 
few  heartily  liked,  while  few  thoroughly  knew 
him.  He  had  been  wild,  extravagant,  and 
some  said  dissipated  the  first  two  or  three 


72  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

years  after  his  graduation.  He  was  known  to 
be  frank  and  truthful,  and  as  a  giver  and 
lender  had  been  decidedly  too  generous.  He 
was  a  conscientious  officer  in  many  ways,  ex- 
cept when  he  was  serving  under  Buxton.  He 
couldn't  bear  "  Bux,"  and  Bux  not  infrequently 
spoke  disparagingly  of  Merriam 's  ability,  a 
thing  that  might  have  hurt  him  in  the  eyes  of 
his  superiors  but  for  the  fact  that  they  knew 
Bux  far  better  than  he  knew  them.  Among 
officers  of  his  own  grade  there  were  none 
whose  opinion  was  worth  having  who  really 
disliked  Merriam,  but  very  few  who  felt  them- 
selves sufficiently  intimate  with  him  to  actively 
like.  They  had  nothing  against  him,  except 
a  certain  indifference  of  manner,  and  nothing 
that  called  for  enthusiastic  praise.  His  con- 
duct in  returning  to  his  regiment  from  an 
expensive  Eastern  station,  and  putting  him- 
self en  retraite  until  his  debts  should  be  lifted 
and  his  duns  appeased,  met  with  general  com- 
mendation. His  course  in  taking  the  Mesca- 
lero  detail  off  a  brother  officer's  hands  was 
held  to  be  characteristically  generous.  He 
bad  lots  of  good  points,  had  Merriam,  they  all 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  73 

conceded,  but  there  were  not  four  people,  offi- 
cers  or  ladies,  in  either  the  cavalry  or  the 
Riflers  who  thought  him  good  enough  for 
Florence  Tremaine. 

"Wish  her  joy?  Aye,  with  all  my  heart, *' 
said  the  old  colonel,  when  the  news  of  the 
engagement  was  brought  to  him,  "  but  can  we 
hope  it?"  Even  Captain  Hayne  was  not  sure, 
though  he  tried  to  be,  and  found  comfort  and 
inspiration  in  the  enthusiasm  of  his  devoted 
wife  and  in  the  stanch  opinions  of  Billy  Whit- 
taker.  These  two  were  the  two  at  Sedgwick 
to  whom  that  engagement  brought  gladness 
without  alloy,  and  since  there  were  not  four 
people  in  the  combined  commands  who  could 
thoroughly  approve  the  match,  it  follows  that 
at  most,  therefore,  there  could  be  only  one 
more,  but  that  one  was  the  most  confident, 
the  most  enthusiastic,  the  happiest,  the  glad- 
dest, the  proudest,  the  fondest  girl  that  ever 
lived — Florence,  her  own  sweet  self.  In  a 
passion  of  tears,  one  exquisite,  moonlit  even- 
ing late  in  June,  she  had  thrown  herself  upon 
her  knees  by  her  mother's  side  and  sobbed 
out  the  news  that  Merriam  had  told  her  he 


74 

loved  her  dearly  and  had  asked  her  to  be  his 
wife,  and  when  the  mother  drew  her  to  her 
bosom  and  held  her  there,  and  mingled  her 
tears  with  those  of  her  beloved  child,  her  heart 
went  up  in  prayer  to  heaven,  for  she  knew 
that  which  Tremaine  could  not  understand, 
that  so  deep,  so  fond,  so  all-possessing  was  the 
love  with  which  Florence  would  love,  prob- 
ably did  love,  that  there  could  be  no  listening 
to  reason.  She  had  pinned  her  faith  on  Ran- 
dolph Merriam  and  it  could  not  be  shaken. 

But  neither  wife  nor  daughter  knew  that 
night  that,  earlier  in  the  evening,  Merriam 
had  sought  the  husband  and  father  and  opened 
his  heart  to  him,  told  him  his  whole  story,  and 
begged  of  him  his  consent  and  blessing.  "  I 
did  love  Miss  Hay  ward,"  he  said ;  "  I  was  fasci- 
nated beyond  expression  and  was  stunned  by 
the  abrupt  end  of  our  engagement,  but  all  that 
passion  was  killed  by  the  details  that  have 
reached  me,  and  in  its  place  have  grown  up 
an  admiration  and  love  for  your  daughter  that 
far  exceed  anything  I  have  known  before.  1 
have  had  hard  lessons,  sir;  I  am  not  worthy 
the  love  of  one  so  pure  and  true  as  she,  but  it 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  75 

shall  be  my  constant  endeavor  to  make  her 
happy." 

Tremaine  could  not  answer  for  a  moment. 
"  What  have  you  told  her,  thus  far?"  he  asked, 
though  not  unkindly. 

"  I  told  her  before  I  was  summoned  back  to 
the  detachment,  after  that  shooting  scrape  up 
in  the  mountains,  about  Miss  Hay  ward  and 
my  broken  engagement,  and  her  prospective 
marriage.  I  do  not  think  I  had  any  business 
to  do  even  that — to  tell  her  anything  that 
might  seem  to  single  her  out  as  confidant,  but 
the  impulse  was  stronger  than  I  was." 

"  Was  that — the  day  before  the  courier  came 
down  with  the  news  of  the  fight?"  asked  the 
captain,  with  uplifted  brows.  He  was  think- 
ing of  how  Florence  had  been  found  by  her 
mother  in  tears  that  very  afternoon. 

"Very  possibly,  sir,  though  I  cannot  recall 
the  day." 

Then  after  a  pause:  "Answer  me  this 
question,  Merriam,"  said  the  older  officer. 
"If  Miss  Hay  ward  were  to  treat  this  man  as 
she  did  you;  if  she  were  again  to  come  into 
your  life  and  say,  'Come  back  to  me,'  I  do  not 


76  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

ask  you  what  your  answer  would  be — I  ask, 
what  would  your  heart  say?" 

"  Nothing.  Even  if  she  were  not  his  wife, 
I  could  not  think  of  her  again  without  aver- 
sion." 

"  Yet  she  is  accomplished  and  a  beauty,  you 
say :  which  my  Florence,  they  tell  me,  though 
I  cannot  see  it,  is  not." 

"She  is  accomplished — too  much  so.  She 
is  a  beautiful  woman,  but  I  look  in  your  daugh- 
ter's eyes,  sir,  and  I  see  her  as  you  see  her. 
God  knows  I  marvel  that  any  one  can  fail  to 
see  her  except  as  you  do  and  as  I  do." 

And  Tremaine  held  out  his  hand,  gripped 
hard  the  lean,  brown  fingers  that  clasped  in 
his,  essayed  to  say  something  that  was  still 
weighing  on  his  heart,  but  gave  it  up. 

"She  is  all  I  have  to  give,  Merriam,"  he 
presently  said,  "but  she  is  all  the  world  to 


me." 


And  so  when  Merriam  returned  to  Sedg- 
wick  to  face  the  volleys  of  congratulation  and 
the  occasional  shakes  of  the  head  with  which 
his  seniors  said  to  him,  "She's  a  heap  too 
good  for  you,  man,"  he  could  not  but  be  aware 


ARMY   W1F&.  77 

of  the  trend  of  public  sentiment,  and  though 
time  and  again  he  had  said  as  much  to  her,  to 
her  parents,  to  himself,  it  must  be  owned  that 
here  was  a  case  where  it  was  not  entirely  flat- 
tering to  find  the  world  of  his  own  expressed 
opinion.  It  nettled  him  not  a  little,  and  even 
Whittaker  and  Mrs.  Hayne  could  not  entirely 
comfort  him.  It  was  all  very  well  to  say, 
"  You  must  remember  that  Florence  has  been 
the  pet  of  our  regiment  ever  since  she  was 
born.  I  declare  it  makes  me  jealous  at  times 
for  my  own  babies,"  as  Mrs.  Hayne  did.  It 
was  gratifying  and  complimentary  to  his  taste 
that  the  commendation  of  his  gentle  fianc/e 
was  so  general,  but,  no  matter  how  conscious 
a  man  may  be  of  his  own  shortcomings,  is  it 
ever  a  comfort  to  find  that  all  his  friends  are 
equally  aware  of  them?  It  must  be  owned 
that  there  were  moments  when  Merriam  grew 
impatient  of  these  comments  upon  his  un- 
worthiness,  expressed  or  implied,  even  while 
his  heart  rejoiced  over  the  enthusiastic  inter- 
est displayed  by  all  the  garrison  in  his  wife 
that  was  to  be. 

And  he  was  a  very    devoted    lover,  too. 


y8  jjr  ARM*  WIFB. 


Only  twice  a  week  did  the  mail  rider  go  out  to 
the  cantonment,  but  Randy  wrote  to  her  long, 
crowded  pages  every  day,  and  her  letters 
came  even  longer  and  brimful  of  love  and 
sunshine  and  happiness.  He  had  sent  to  St. 
Louis  for  her  engagement  ring,  and  her  de- 
light over  it  and  its  beauty  was  something 
delicious  to  see,  though  she  properly  rebuked 
him  for  his  extravagance  and  warned  him 
never  again  to  spend  so  much  money  in  jew- 
elry for  her  while  he  was  yet  a  poor  lieuten- 
ant. By  and  by,  when  he  became  a  great 
general,  as  surely  he  must,  then  it  might  be 
permissible,  but  no  matter  how  great  or  dis- 
tinguished he  might  become,  never  could  she 
be  prouder  of  him  or  of  his  love  than  now, 
never,  never! 

As  the  late  autumn  wore  on  it  was  arranged 
that  the  wedding  should  take  place  at  Sedg- 
wick,  and  both  Riflers  and  troopers,  the  —  th 
Foot  and  the  —  th  Horse,  were  to  give  the 
happy  couple  a  glorious  send-off.  Both  bride 
and  groom  elect  had  seen  much  of  the  East 
and  South  within  the  ten  years  preceding  this 
•f  '92,  and  Merriam  suggested  Southern  Call* 


79 

forma,  Coronado  Beach,  Santa  Barbara,  and 
Monterey  for  their  honeymoon  trip.  Florence 
would  have  gone  without  question  had  he  said 
Kamchatka  or  Timbuctoo.  Once — twice  dur- 
ing the  autumn  long  letters  had  reached  him 
from  Ned  Parry — letters  over  which  he  pon- 
dered long  and  gravely.  Mrs.  and  Mr.  Me- 
Lane,  said  the  second  letter,  were  once  more 
in  Gotham,  the  vortex  of  a  gay  circle,  but 
Mrs.  Parry  had  declined  to  go  East  again. 
He  himself  had  not  cared  to  go,  and  did  not 
call  upon  the  happy  couple  or  upon  their  re- 
vered uncle  when,  as  it  happened,  he  did  have 
to  go.  "Mr.  Mellen  has  never  written  me 
since  my  letter  to  him  telling  him  why  I  could 
not  attend  the  wedding,"  wrote  Parry.  "Yet 
he  and  I  have  got  to  have  an  accounting,  and 
in  the  near  future,  too.  But  first,  my  boy,  I 
must  look  up  that  California  story  and  we  are 
to  meet.  It  may  be  weeks  yet  before  I  can 
get  away,  but  when  I  do,  I'll  wire.  If  possible 
get  a  brief  furlough  and  join  me.  I'll  come 
by  way  of  Sedgwick,  and  Charlotte — will  not 
be  with  us." 

And  though  Merriam  soon  answered  that 


8o  AN  ARMY  W1FR. 

letter,  lie  made  no  mention  of  his  engagement. 
Cards  in  due  form  were  issued  in  January  just 
a  fortnight  before  the  ceremony,  and  that  was 
Parry's  first  intimation  of  "the  impending 
crisis."  Charlotte  was  astonished.  Both  were 
rejoiced  on  one  account,  yet  both  wished,  for 
the  girl's  sake  again,  that  he  had  not  been  so 
precipitate.  Each  believed  that  the  old  love 
still  smouldered  and  could  be  fanned  into 
flame.  They  sent  a  beautiful  gift  to  the  bride 
—-some  rare  cut-glass  pieces  over  which  Flor- 
ence almost  cried  with  delight,  and  for  the 
first  time  in  long  weeks  Charlotte  Parry  wrote 
to  her  fair  sister  in  Gotham,  and  told  her  of 
Mr.  Merriam's  engagement  to  such  a  charm- 
ing girl,  the  only  daughter  of  a  distinguished 
officer,  the  pride  and  beauty  of  the  regiment, 
the  toast  of  all  the  cavalry,  and  other  elabora- 
tions, some  of  which,  it  must  be  owned,  Mrs. 
Pfcrry  coined,  but  most  of  them  she  compiled 
and  evolved  from  the  letter  Merriam  wrote  to 
her  two  days  after  he  had  posted  the  cards. 

The  wedding  was  lovely,  as  army  weddings 
usually  are.  The  day  was  perfect,  the  music 
grand,  the  assemblage  all  that  could  be  de~ 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  81 

sired ;  the  ceremony,  despite  the  mist  of  tears 
in  many  eyes  and  Tremaine's  manifest  emo- 
tion, had  gone  off  without  a  jar.  The  recep- 
tion at  the  Haynes'  was  simply  perfect,  as 
everybody  said,  and  then,  though  it  was  a 
manifest  "  give-away"  of  the  young  couple,  and 
probably  very  bad  form  indeed,  dozens  of  men 
and  women  had  ridden  to  the  junction  to  meet 
the  west-bound  train  and  see  them  off;  and 
hardly  had  their  fond  faces  faded  in  the  dis- 
tance than  another,  a  very  different  one,  a 
radiant,  smiling,  beautiful  face,  was  unveiled 
to  the  startled  vision  of  the  bride,  and  the 
woman  who  was  said  to  have  wrecked  Ran- 
dolph Merriam's  life  a  few  months  gone  by 
was  there  in  most  bewitching  guise,  despite 
the  dust  and  grime  of  railway  travel,  to  over- 
whelm her  with  pretty  speeches  and  charming 

compliments — and  complete  dismay. 
6 


CHAPTER  VI. 

0 

MERRIAM'S  intention  had  been  to  go  direct 
to  San  Diego.  Leaving  the  ladies  together, 
after  a  cold  and  embarrassed  acknowledgment 
of  Mrs.  McLane's  greeting  and  a  most  unwill- 
ing presentation  to  "my  wife,"  he  hurried  into 
another  car  to  be  alone  and  collect  his  thoughts. 
It  was  sundown  by  this  time,  and  only  sun- 
down. For  hours  yet  poor  Florence  might  be 
at  the  mercy  of  that  merciless  woman,  who 
Merriam  now  believed  could  be  capable  of 
anything.  The  thought  was  unbearable. 
From  the  conductor  he  learned  that  the  Mc- 
Lanes  were  bound  for  Coronado  Beach,  and 
that  settled  it.  Hastily  writing  a  few  lines 
lie  folded  the  paper  compactly  and  walked 
briskly  back  to  the  Pullman.  Both  faces 
lighted  at  his  coming,  Floy's  with  infinite 
relief,  Fanny's  with  laughing  triumph.  "  Not 

another  moment's  leave,  sir/'  cried  the  latter, 

8a 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  83 

*  until  you've  explained  where  you've  been 
and  promised  never  again  to  abandon  your 
beloved.  Fancy  a  man  who  would  leave  his 
bride  within  an  hour  of  their  wedding  to  go 
and  smoke  among  strangers!  Oh,  that  re- 
minds me,  I  haven't  presented  you  to  Mr. 
McLane.  Will  you  come  with  me  now?" 

Cold  refusal  was  on  his  tongue,  but  a  sud- 
den thought  struck  him.  "  Lead  on,  madame 
— I  follow,"  he  said,  and  as  she  tripped  blithe- 
ly away  down  the  aisle  he  quickly  turned 
back,  bent,  and  printing  one  long  kiss  on 
Floy's  troubled  face,  hurriedly  whispered: 
"Read  this,  darling.  I'll  be  with  you  in  one 
moment,  and  then  she  cannot  remain."  Then 
calmly  and  deliberately  he  followed.  Mrs. 
McLane  had  halted  at  the  angle  of  the  narrow 
passage  around  the  smoking  compartment, 
and  was  awaiting  him  there.  Seeing  this  he 
stopped  short  at  the  portiere,  in  full  view  of 
Florence  had  she  looked  around,  and  bowing, 
motioned  her  to  proceed.  But  she  had  halted 
for  a  purpose  and  meant  to  have  her  say. 
Who  was  it  that  declared  that  even  at  the 
altar,  in  her  wedding  dress,  a  woman  could 


•4  A*  ARMY  WIFR. 

not  forgive  the  rejected  lover  who  had  found 
consolation  elsewhere? 

"You  are  to  be  congratulated  on  the  elas- 
ticity with  which  you  recover  from  even  severe 
attacks,  Mr.  Merriam.  Your  fever  was  said  to 
be  such." 

"I  have  been  fortunate  in  two  recoveries, 
Mrs.  McLane,"  was  the  cool  response.  "  Now 
if  you  are  ready  to  present  me  to  Mr.  McLane, 
I  am  at  your  service ;  if  not,  I  desire  to  return 
to  my  wife." 

The  flush  that  leaped  to  her  face,  the  angry 
light  to  her  eyes  she  could  neither  conceal  nor 
control.  For  a  moment  she  stood  there  amazed, 
enraged,  and  trembling,  then  these  words  burst 
from  her  lips:  "I  thought  I  loved  you,  Randy 
Merriam — not  two  months  ago — yes,  despite 
everything!  Now  I  hate  you!"  And  with 
this  melodramatic  speech  she  impetuously 
and  abruptly  turned,  and  for  the  .second  time 
took  refuge,  dust  or  no  dust,  at  the  rear  door- 
way, the  presentation  to  her  husband  appar- 
ently forgotten.  For  a  proper  and  reasonable 
minute  he  awaited  her  return, — then,  quickly 
stepping  back,  seated  himself  by  his  young 


i 


'*  fffx  hand  sought  0uf* twd*f-tr*i 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  85 

wife's  side.  His  hand  sought  and  found  hers ; 
his  fond  eyes,'  eagerly  searching,  were  not  long 
denied  the  upward,  appealing  glance  of  hers. 
"Did  you  read?  Do  you  approve,  dear  love?" 
he  softly  asked.  "  It  would  be  exasperation  to 
have  to  travel  on  with  them.  Shall  I  wire  to 

Stoneman?" 

i 

"Whatever  you  say,  Randy,"  was  the  whis- 
pered answer.  "Only  you  won't  have  to 
leave  me  again,  will  you?" 

"  Only  for  an  instant,  dear,  just  long  enough 
to  send  the  dispatch  from  Fauntleroy — one 
station  ahead.  She  will  not  trouble  you 
again." 

And  from  Fauntleroy  a  brief  telegram  was 
flashed  along  the  wires  to  the  post  quarter- 
master at  a  famous  old  Arizona  station,  two 
hours'  ride  beyond,  and  when  the  brilliantly 
lighted  train  came  steaming  up  to  the  plat-? 
form  there  stood  a  brace  of  officers  with  wel- 
come in  their  eyes;  and  before  Mrs.  McLane, 
once  again  seated  in  her  section  and  feigning 
deep  interest  in  her  book,  could  realize  what 
had  happened,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Merriam  were 
leaving  the  car,  he  merely  raising  his  hat  in 


86  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

civil  farewell,  — the  bride,  however,  as  the  re- 
suit  of  brief  conference  with  her  lord,  smiling 
bravely  down  into  the  upturned  face  of  their 
startled  neighbor  and  saying,  "I  hope  you 
may  have  a  delightful  journey,  Mrs.  McLane. 
Good-night." 

"  Why — I  thought — surely  you  told  me  you 
were  going  to — direct  to  San  Diego,  and  I  had 
planned  to  have  ever  so  long  a  talk  with  you," 
and  Mrs.  McLane  had  possessed  herself  of 
that  slender  hand,  and  was  hanging  on  sus- 
piciously hard. 

"Yes,  we'll  be  there  after  a  little,"  was  the 
serene  answer.  "  We  visit  old  friends  first  at 
Fort  Stoneman,"  and  with  that  our  army  girl 
withdrew  the  hand  which  hypocritical  social 
ethics  prescribed  she  should  extend.  She  had 
even  the  hardihood  to  glance  over  her  stylishly 
robed  shoulder  and  nod  a  cheery,  insouciant 
farewell  to  the  fair  yet  clouded  face  at  the 
Pullman  window.  Verily  Floy's  elasticity  was 
equal  to  her  husband's. 

Mr.  McLane  they  had  not  met  at  all,  nor 
did  they  again,  on  that  now  unclouded  wed- 
ding journey,  once  encounter  ker.  It  was. 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  £y 

easy  to  trace  the  wanderings  of  this  Manhat- 
tan magnate  and  his  lovely  wife.  Their 
movements  were  the  subject  of  daily  para- 
graphs in  the  papers  from  San  Diego  to  Se- 
attle, and  not  until  they  had  left  Coronado 
Beach  did  the  Merriams  go  thither.  Not  until 
the  McLanes  were  heralded  at  the  Palace  in 
San  Francisco  did  the  happy  couple  move  on 
to  Monterey,  and  there  one  morning  as  they 
were  at  breakfast  the  papers  were  brought  in, 
and  there  was  sensation.  Merriam  had  not 
yet  begun  to  appear  at  table  with  that  infalli- 
ble symptom  of  the  long-married  couple — a 
newspaper  for  his  own  entertainment  and  si- 
lence for  his  wife,  and  he  and  she  were  glanc- 
ing about  the  great  apartment  and  exchangin 
happy,  low-toned  confidences  about  their  sur- 
roundings and  possibly  their  fellow-sojourners. 
A  man  at  an  adjoining  table,  however,  had 
opened  the  sheet  and  suddenly  exclaimed, 
"My  God!"  and  this  instantly  attracted  the 
attention  of  his  wife,  who  had  resignedly  ac- 
cepted the  situation  and  was  rinding  such  con- 
solation as  she  could  in  studying  the  occupants 
of  the  room  He  began  to  read  aloud!  "Mr. 


83  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

John  Harold  McLane,  of  New  York,  who  with 
his  charming  young  wife  has  been  spending  a 
few  days  in  this  city,  was  shot  and  danger- 
ously  wounded  while  stepping  into  his  carriage 
in  front  of  the  University  Club  at  a  late  hour 
last  night,  his  unknown  assailant  escaping  in 
the  confusion  that  followed.  The  ball,  evi- 
dently a  heavy  one,  struck  him  with  such  force 
that  the  shock  felled  him  instantly.  He  was 
carried  into  the  club  house  again,  where  Drs. 
Storr  and  Humphrey,  who  were  present,  made 
prompt  examination.  It  was  found  that  after 
striking  full  force  and  partially  destroying  the 
contents  of  a  flat  pocket-book  in  his  overcoat, 
the  ball,  deflected  evidently,  had  torn  its  way 
round  under  the  skin  of  the  left  breast  and 
burst  its  way  out  below  the  armpit.  Bleeding 
was  profuse  and  the  shock  severe,  yet  the  phy- 
sicians think  that  the  chances  are  in  favor  of 
his  recovery. 

"There  is  much  mystery  about  the  affair. 
The  coachman  says  a  man  and  a  woman  walked 
up  and  down  in  front  of  the  club  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  street  full  half  an  hour  before 
Mr.  McLane  came  out,  he  being  accompanied 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  & 

by  a  friend  who  had  formed  one  of  their  party 
at  whist.  Instantly  the  strange  man  left  the 
side  of  the  woman,  hurried  across  the  street, 
and,  placing  his  left  hand  on  Mr.  McLane's 
shoulder,  turned  him  sharply  and  accosted  him 
in  low,  somewhat  angry  tone.  The  moment 
he  spoke  Mr.  McLane  struck  furiously  with 
his  right  hand  at  the  other's  face,  then  thrust 
it  into  his  overcoat  pocket,  where  later  a  pistol 
was  found.  It  was  at  this  instant  that  the 
other  fired.  The  carriage  horses,  startled,  at- 
tempted to  run,  and  by  the  time  the  coachman 
had  regained  control  of  them  they  were  some 
distance  down  the  street.  On  his  return,  Mr. 
McLane  was  being  borne  into  the  club.  Quite 
a  l;ttle  crowd  had  gathered,  but  nobody  but 
himself  and  the  friend  referred  to,  who  was 
somewhat  intoxicated,  had  seen  anything  of 
the  shooting.  A  neighbor  said  he  saw  a  man 
and  woman  hurry  round  the  corner,  but  that 
was  the  last  of  them.  The  police  have  a  clue 
which  they  refuse  to  divulge.  Mrs.  McLane, 
who  was  attending  the  brilliant  reception  given 
at  the  residence  cf  the  Hon.  J.  L.  San  bourne, 
was  not  informed  of  the  tragedy  until  an  houi 


go  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

later,  and  was  prostrated  by  the  shock.  At 
3  A.M.  the  wounded  man  was  resting  under  the 
influence  of  opiates." 

Breathless,  Merriam  listened,  his  face  pal- 
ing, and  breathless  Florence  watched  him. 
When  the  reader  had  finished  and  his  wife 
began  to  ask  questions,  Florence  said  no  word. 
Her  dark,  pathetic  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her 
husband's  pallid  face, then  timidly  she  stretched 
forth  her  hand.  "Randy,  dear!"  she  whis- 
pered. 

Merriam  roused  himself  with  a  sudden  start. 
"Forgive  me,  Floy  darling!  But  this  is  a 
dreadful  shock.  Will  you  mind  my  getting  a 
paper?"  and  he  looked  appealingly  about  him. 
A  waiter  sprang  forward.  Did  the  captain 
wish  anything?  The  morning  paper.  Cer- 
tainly. Which  one?  Oh,  any  one — all  of 
them  in  fact ;  and  presently  they  were  brought, 
as  was  the  breakfast,  and  the  breakfast  grew 
cold  while  he  read  on  through  paper  after 
paper,  grewsome  details  in  one  and  all,  yet 
not  the  details  he  sought. 

And  Florence  had  lost  all  appetite  and  was 
intent  only  on  him,  waiting  almost  meekly  for 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  91 

him  to  speak.  Some  of  the  papers  declared 
the  injuries  mortal.  Randy  passed  the  papers 
one  after  another  without  comment  to  her,  as 
he  read  them.  She  took  each  as  it  came,  obe- 
diently, helpfully,  but  folded  and  laid  it  by 
her  side,  then  returned  to  her  wordless  study 
of  his  troubled  face.  At  last  the  fourth  sheet 
was  finished,  and  with  a  long  sigh  he  turned 
and  saw  her.  "  My  darling !  my  darling !"  he 
whispered,  a  great  shame  and  sorrow  over- 
powering him  as  he  noted  the  intensity  of  her 
sympathy  mingling  with  the  mournful  sense 
of  her  utter  nothingness  to  him  at  the  mo- 
ment. "Oh,  Florence,  how  could  I  be  so  for- 
getful of  you?  But  I  have  had  a  dreadful 
shock.  You  do  not  know  what  this  means, 
what  it  would  mean  if  McLane  should  die 
now — and  I  cannot  tell  you." 

And  all  she  said  was  "  Hush !  Randy,  dear, 
I  don't  wish  you  to  tell  me  now." 

But  McLane  did  not  die — at  once,  at  least. 
Three  weeks  the  police  worked  at  that  clue 
and  the  doctors  at  him,  and  neither  with  much 
success — certainly  with  little  help  from  the 
victim,  who  was  in  woful  state  of  collapse 


92  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

much  of  the  time,  protesting  ignorance  of  any 
excuse  for  shooting  on  the  part  of  anybody,  and 
consumed  with  dreadful  fear  of  death.  It  was 
a  wonder  that  under  the  circumstances  he  ral- 
lied sufficiently  to  be  up  and  able  to  be  moved. 
The  March  winds  of  'Frisco  were  leagued 
against  him.  The  doctors  wished  to  take  him 
back  to  Coronado,  but  he  declared  that  any 
part  of  California  would  be  death  to  him.  He 
wished  to  go  home  at  once.  Within  the  week 
of  the  shooting  Ned  Parry  arrived  from  Chi- 
cago, and  had  some  long  interviews  with  his 
sister-in-law,  but  was  not  allowed  to  see  the 
patient ;  neither  was  she  except  at  rare  inter- 
vals, an  affliction  which  she  bore  with  Chris- 
tian resignation.  Then  Parry  had  to  go  back, 
but  not  before  he  had  received  a  note  from 
Merriam,  had  visited  him,  and  had  shown  every 
attention  to  and  deep  interest  in  his  gentle 
bride,  and  had  had  one  long  conference  with 
the  husband,  alone. 

When  Mr.  McLane  was  declared  well  enough 
to  move  they  carried  him  aboard  a  steamer  and 
sent  him  to  Panama,  Fanny,  his  wife,  in  at- 
tendance, as  in  duty  bound.  But  even  the 


"And  her  hours  were  mainly  spent  on  deck. 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  93 

best  and  biggest  stateroom  was  close  and 
stuffy,  as  she  said,  and  her  hours  were  mainly 
spent  on  deck.  It  was  the  nurse  who  had  to 
bear  with  Mac's  ceaseless  plaints.  He  had 
grown  suddenly  old,  childish,  decrepit,  fear- 
ful. They  had  to  stay  some  days  at  Panama, 
and  had  a  wretched  time,  at  least  he  did,  being 
transferred  thence  to  Havana,  where  he  was 
enjoined  to  remain  at  least  six  weeks.  But 
some  morbid  longing  drew  him  irresistibly 
back  to  New  York.  Go  he  would,  and  in 
April  they  exchanged  the  summer  seas,  the 
soft,  perfume-laden  air,  the  warm  sunshine  of 
the  tropics  for  the  fogs  and  bluster  of  the 
North  Atlantic  seaboard.  Pneumonia  set  in 
and  claimed  the  feeble  wreck  for  its  own. 
Several  weeks  before  the  anniversary  of  that 
brilliant  wedding  and  still  more  brilliant  re- 
ception, Fanny  McLane  was  weeping  decor- 
ously in  widow's  weeds  and  listening  to  the 
details  of  the  last  will  and  testament. 

Much,  but  not  all,  had  been  left  to  his  be- 
loved wife,  Frances  Hayward  McLane,  but 
even  that  much  was  curiously  bestowed.  Why 
should  Uncle  Mellen  be  so  largely  a  bene 


94  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

ficiary?  Why  should  he  be  placed  in  charge 
of  her  property?  Was  she  not  old  enough  to 
look  after  what  was  her  own?  Why  should 
Uncle  Mellen  here  and  Uncle  Mellen  there 
appear  on  page  after  page  of  that  formidable 
document?  With  alarming  suddenness  the 
tears  had  vanished,  dried  off,  presumably,  by 
the  hot  flush  on  her  lovely  cheek.  Some  one 
had  obtained  undue  influence  over  her  hus- 
band in  his  last  moments,  she  declared.  Some 
one  had  swindled  her.  Some  one  should  be 
given  to  understand  she  was  a  child — a  pup- 
pet— no  longer,  and  two  some  ones,  Uncle  and 
Aunt  Mellen,  had  a  tremendous  scene  with 
the  widow  before  the  funeral  baked-meats 
were  fairly  cold — before  the  flowers  began  to 
droop  about  the  new-filled  grave.  One  row  led 
to  another,  and  then  to  litigation,  and  then 
sister  Charlotte  had  relented,  sister  love  and 
tenderness  triumphing  over  the  sense  of  indig- 
nation which  followed  Fan's  repeated  neglects 
of  sisterly  letters  and  sisterly  advice,  and  she 
came  East  with  her  imperturbable  Ned,  and 
found  Fan  looking  white  and  ill  and  troubled, 
and  while  Ned  remained  for  a  legal  battle 


Atf  ARMY   WIFE.  95 

royal  with  the  girl's  putative  guardian,  Char- 
lotte took  Frances  to  a  charming  resort  in  the 
West  for  a  placid  summer,  and  that  fall  the 
lovely  widow  was  domiciled  in  an  apartment 
of  her  own  within  view  of  the  flashing  waves 
of  Lake  Michigan,  within  sound  of  the  cease- 
less roar  of  Chicago. 

Meantime  the  junior  member  of  the  great 
firm  of  Graeme,  Rayburn  &  Parry  had  been 
doing  yeoman  service  in  "  pinching"  Uncle  Mel- 
len,  and  many  a  valuable  concession  nad  been 
made,  and,  thanks  to  her  gifted  brother-in-law, 
the  fair  and  now  fully  restored  widow  found 
herself  in  apparently  undisputed  possession  of 
the  revenues  of  certain  houses,  lots  and  lands, 
stocks  and  bonds  that  would  have  been  beyond 
her  claim ;  and  now  had  come  the  longing  to 
spread  her  wings  and  fly,  for  with  indepen- 
dence came  the  intolerance  of  Charlotte's  well- 
mean*,  yet  ill-advised  monitions.  She  would 
have  no  elder  sister  preaching  "  Don't  do  this 
and  don't  do  that,"  day  after  day  to  her-  She 
could  not  assume  at  all  times  the  expression 
of  a  grief  she  did  not  feel.  The  weeds,  "  tlie 
customary  suits  of  solemn  black,"  even  the 


96  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

little  caps  were  donned  whenever  she  went 
abroad,  but  that  cap  was  so  coquettish  as  te 
draw  down  Lot's  denunciation,  and  even  deep 
mourning  was  to  be  discarded  long  before  the 
prescribed  twelvemonth. 

Freak,  whim,  caprice  of  every  kind  had  her 
elder  sister  expected  of  her,  even  to  the 
encouragement  of  this  well-groomed,  well- 
preserved  broker-magnate  who  came  on  plea 
of  new  investments  and  business  interests,  but 
that  Prances  should  declare  her  intention  of 
going  to  visit  Fort  Sedgwick,  even  tinder  the 
protection  of  the  Graftons'  roof,  had  never  oc- 
curred to  her  for  a  moment  as  a  possibility. 
It  was  stunning!  It  was  too  dreadful  for  any- 
thing! She  would  have  written  mad,  sisterly 
protest  to  Mrs.  Grafton,  but  for  Ned's  stern 
prohibition.  '*  Let  her  go,  my  child,*'  said  he, 
in  the  half-paternal  way  he  sometimes  as- 
sumed.  "Let  her  go.  I  know  Grafton,  I 
think.  I  know  Mrs.  Merriam,  and  I  believe 
I  know  Randy.  It*s  my  profound  conviction 
Fan  is  going  to  get  the  lesson  of  her  life." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  manner  in  which  Mrs.  Frances  McLane 
secured  her  invitation  to  visit  the  Graf  tons  re- 
flects credit  on  her  generalship  if  not  on  her 
general  character.  She  was  deep  in  widow's 
weeds  and  woe  the  lovely  summer  of  '94  so 
long  as  she  remained  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  mausoleum  of  the  dear  departed,  and  Mrs. 
Grafton  twice  or  thrice  ran  down  from  the 
Point  to  pour  out  sympathy  and  consolation, 
but  dear  Fanny  had  sustained  too  severe  a 
shock.  This  dreadful,  this  mysterious,  this 
murderous  assault  upon  Mr.  McLane  had  un- 
nerved her  completely,  said  Mrs.  Grafton,  on 
her  return  to  her  liege,  and  she  does  not  seem 
to  rally  at  all.  Later,  as  we  have  seen,  Char- 
lotte took  her  sister  West,  and  later  still  the 
Graf  tons,  en  route  to  Sedgwick  at  last,  stopped 
five  days  in  Chicago  on  their  way,  and  Fanny 
was  at  the  station  to  meet  them  on  their  ar- 
rrival,  and  insisted  then,  as  she  had  before  by 
7  97 


9*  AN  ARMY    WIFE. 

letter,  upon  their  being  her  guests  at  her  own 
apartments  at  the  Clarendon.  She  had  a 
lovely  little  room  all  ready  for  them.  Now 
Grafton  was  a  provident  man,  an  economical 
man,  and  five  days'  hotel  bills  made  certainly 
a  big  hole  in  a  month's  pay.  Something  even 
then  whispered  to  him  that  this  extravagance 
were  better  than  that  to  which  acceptance  of 
the  widow's  invitation  would  lead.  But  he 
banished  the  thought  as  unworthy  and  unchar- 
itable. Fanny  welcomed  them  with  infinite 
tact  and  taste — made  them  feel  that  their 
coming  was  a  blessing  to  her,  so  sad  and 
lonely  was  her  life  now  that  it  was  no  longer 
blessed  by  the  companionship  and  devotion  of 
the  incomparable  husband  whom  she  had  lost. 
She  could  not  accompany  them  to  the  opera  or 
to  concerts  and  theatres,  but  she  had  the  best 
seats  secured,  and  Ned  and  Charlotte  were 
properly  attentive ;  and  when  it  was  time  for 
the  Graftons  to  move  on  the  ladies  actually 
parted  with  tears,  Fanny  looking  so  white,  so 
pathetic,  so  fragile,  and  protesting  that  Mrs. 
Grafton  was  the  one  friend  to  whom  her  heart 
dung  in  its  bereavement  and  desolation.  A 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  & 

hacking  little  cough  had  already  set  in  (this 
was  late  in  the  fall),  and  the  rigors  of  the 
Lake  Michigan  climate  seemed  telling  severely 
upon  the  Gotham-born  girl,  and  urgently  did 
Mrs.  Grafton  press  her  to  leave  this  blustering 
shore  and  to  come  to  her  in  that  land  where 
coughs  and  bronchial  and  catarrhal  troubles 
are  unknown,  to  bask  in  the  sunshine  and 
drink  in  the  delicious  air  of  southern  New 
Mexico ;  and  Fan  declared  that  could  she  but 
be  with  Harriet  her  cough  would  never  worry 
her,  but — it  could  not  be — it  could  not  be! 
There  were  important  legal  matters  to  be  set- 
tled. She  must  fight  her  battle  alone.  She 
could  not  yet  go  so  far  from  that  sacred  dust. 

All  the  same  the  Graftons  were  not  fairly 
settled  at  Sedgwick  when  Fan's  legal  difficul- 
ties seemed  to  have  been  settled  and  her  cough 
grievously  augmented.  The  doctors  talked  of 
Bermuda  or  San  Diego,  but  the  idea  of  going 
to  Bermuda,  among  strangers,  was  a  horror, 
so  she  wrote;  and  as  for  Coronado  where,  less 
than  a  year  agone,  che  had  been  so  happy,  so 
blest? — no!  no!  it  was  impossible!  Yet  Chi- 
cago for  the  rest  of  the  winter  was  out  of  the 


ioo  AN  ARMY   W1FB. 


question,  especially  since  the  estrangement 
that  had  grown  up  between  her  and  her  rela- 
tives in  the  East,  that  had  even  to  some  ex- 
tent  involved  Charlotte,  her  beloved  sister. 
Mrs.  Grafton  could  not  help  thinking  how 
remarkably  Frances  had  developed  since  their 
school-days.  Then  she  had  never  impressed 
any  one  as  being  capable  of  much  deep  feeling. 
There  had  been  a  few  months  indeed  when 
Mrs.  Grafton  was  angry  and  astonished  at 
Frances,  but  those  were  just  after  she  "  broke" 
with  Randy  Merriam  and  married  McLane, 
but  Fan  had  wheedled  her  out  of  this  unfavor- 
able mood  and  convinced  her  that  she  had 
never  really  cared  for  Mr.  Merriam,  who, 
somehow,  failed  to  inspire  iier  with  that  feel- 
ing of  respect,  even  reverence,  which  she  felt 
was  due  the  man  she  married  ;  whereas  Mr. 
McLane  was  a  gentleman  of  such  dignity  and 
force  of  character  that  she  seemed  powerless 
in  his  presence,  and  his  love  was  the  sweetest 
flattery,  the  most  surprising,  thrilling  joy  she 
had  ever  known.  Not  until  he  came  did  she 
dream  what  love  really  meant,  and  then  it  was 
duty,  it  was  justice,  it  was  honor  that  com- 


AN 


pelled  her  to  release  MV  Merriam.'  'Had  she 
married  him  she  would  have  gone  to  the  altar 
with  a  lie  on  her  lips,  for  she  loved  another. 
Grafton  said  nothing,  but  seemed  to  be  think- 
ing a  good  deal,  and  it  was  plain  that  he  did 
not  thoroughly  approve  of  the  fickle  Frances. 
When,  however,  Merriam  surprised  every- 
body at  the  Point  by  his  marriage  to  Floy 
Tremaine,  Grafton  concluded  it  time  to  drop 
the  matter. 

All  the  same  he  could  not  suppress  his  sur- 
prise when  Harriet  announced  that  Fanny  had 
actually  almost  consented  to  come  to  them. 
"  I  thought  you  knew  I  disapproved  of  that 
scheme  entirely,"  said  he. 

"  You  did,  dear,  when  I  first  spoke  of  it,  and 
so  did  I.  I  didn't  think  it  would  do  at  all,  but 
Fan  talked  so  frankly  about  Mr.  Merriam  and 
the  lovely  time  they'd  had  together  on  the 
Pacific  coast,  —  with  him  and  his  charming 
bride,  —  and  how  he  and  she  had  laughed  over 
their  affair  at  the  Point  and  agreed  that  it 
would  have  been  absurd,  and  now  they  were 
such  good  friends,  and  she'd  had  such  a  sweet, 
sympathetic  message  from  Mrs.  Merriam  after 


tov  A*r  A&MY  WIP&. 


her  sad,  sad  laereavement — why,  what  more 
was  to  be  said." 

Grafton  listened  rather  grimly.  He  was 
many  years  older  than  his  wife,  as  has  been 
said,  and  much  less  credulous.  Again  the 
same  uneasy  presentiment  oppressed  him.  "  I 
don't  think  she  should  come  here,  Harrie,"  he 
gravely  said.  "  Anywhere  else,  perhaps,  I 
could  have  shared  with  you  the  feeling  of  wel- 
come— certainly  the  desire  to  pay  the  debt  of 
hospitality,  but  at  Sedgwick,  with  the  Mer- 
riams  here,  it  cannot  be." 

And  here  poor  Mrs.  Grafton  broke  down 
and  wept.  "Oh,"  she  cried,  "it's  got  to  be! 
I  thought  you'd  forgiven  her  and  that  all  was 
well;  and  I  urged — and  she's  coming — ne — 
ne — next  w — week." 

We  need  not  record  the  further  remarks  of 
Captain  Grafton  on  this  point,  since  they  were 
after  all  inoperative,  but  the  first  dark  shadow 
over  their  domestic  peace  fell  that  very  day 
and  hour.  For  the  life  of  him  he  could  not 
but  feel  that  he  had  been  tricked  and  deceived, 
and  yet  so  plausible  were  the  explanations  he 
could  not  brush  them  entirely  aside.  At  aU 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  103 

events  he  would  not  now  require  his  wife  to 
recall  the  invitation,  sent  and  accepted.  It 
might  even  be  as  she  claimed,  that  Fan  loved 
and  clung  to  her  as  her  only  dear  and  intimate 
friend,  and  craved  her  society  and  sympathy 
now  in  her  bereavement  and  ill-health,  and, 
though  still  suspicious  and  ill-satisfied,  he  gave 
his  reluctant  assent  to  the  plan,  and  was  on 
hand  at  the  Junction  to  meet  and  welcome  his 
unwelcome  guest. 

The  Merriams  had  been  paying  a  holiday 
visit  to  Floy's  devoted  parents  at  the  canton- 
ment, and  were  absent  from  Sedgwick  while 
these  preliminaries  were  being  arranged. 
Otherwise  Grafton  might  have  cast  conven- 
tionality aside  and  asked  Randy  for  the  truth 
about  those  alleged  lovely  times  when  they 
were  on  their  wedding  journey ;  but  he  could 
not  bring  himself  to  write,  and  indeed  thers 
was  no  time  for  letters  to  go  and  come  and  de 
cide  an  issue  that  was  already  decided.  It 
was  Mrs.  Grafton  who,  two  days  before  the 
arrival  of  her  lovely  guest,  broke  the  news  of 
her  coming  to  Mr.  Merriam,  and  was  aston- 
ished at  his  reception  thereof. 


104  Atf  ARMY   WIFE. 

It  was  almost  sunset  of  one  of  those  softv 
languorous  southern  days  that  make  even  mid- 
winter  warm  and  grateful  in  the  lower  valle> 
of  the  Bravo.  Across  the  barren  level  of  the 
parade  the  troopers  were  marching  up  from 
stables  in  their  white  frocks,  and  sending  long 
shadows  striding  up  the  opposite  eastward 
slope  of  the  narrow  canon.  The  officers,  in 
parties  of  three  or  four,  were  strolling  home- 
ward past  the  now  shaded  porticoes,  on  many 
of  which,  seated  with  their  needlework  or 
chatting  with  friends,  the  ladies  of  the  garri- 
son were  awaiting  the  coming  of  their  lords  or 
lovers — or  both.  The  smooth,  broad  walks 
were  bright  with  groups  of  merry  children  or 
sedately  trundled  baby -carriages.  Three  or 
four  of  the  bigger  boys  were  galloping  their 
ponies  along  the  roadway,  fresh  sprinkled  by 
the  huge  water-cart.  The  band  that  had  been 
playing  in  its  kiosk  in  front  of  the  line  had 
picked  up  its  music-books  and  gone  trudging 
barrackward  for  change  of  raiment  before  pa- 
rade, skirting  on  the  way  the  circular  plat  of 
withered  grass  maintained  at  vast  expenditure 
of  labor  and  water  at  the  foot  of  the  staff  from 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  105 

whose  shimmering  peak  hung,  well-nigh  mo- 
tionless, the  blue  and  scarlet  and  white  of  the 
national  flag.  Northwestward  th-2  distant  line 
of  the  Mescalero  stood  blue-black  against  the 
cloudless  sky.  Away  to  the  east  rolled  the 
dun  billows  of  the  "Jornada,"  illimitable  in 
monotony  and  range.  Downward  at  the  ford 
of  the  San  Mateo  some  Indian  boys  and  girls 
were  jabbering  shrill  expostulation  to  the 
Mexican  herder  who  was  swearing  strange 
oaths  at  his  usually  placid  burros,  because  they 
had  the  good  manners  to  shrink  at  the  edge  of 
the  stream  wherein  these  children  of  nature 
were  disporting,  the  laughter  and  screaming, 
even  the  splashing  of  the  water,  rising  dis- 
tinctly on  the  air.  Out  on  the  mesa  to  the 
north  the  quartermaster's  herd  was  nodding 
slowly,  sleepily  homeward,  powdered  by  a  dust- 
cloud  of  its  own  raising,  and  over  at  the  infan- . 
try  barracks  at  the  westward  end  of  the  long 
line  scores  of  the  men  were  already  out  in  full 
dress  uniform,  awaiting  the  bugle  call  that 
should  demand  the  assembly.  Mrs.  Grafton 
had  been  visiting  up  the  row  and  was  coming 
smilingly  back,  nodding  greeting  and  saluta- 


io6  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

tion  to  the  ladies  on  the  verandas  of  the  vari- 
ous quarters  as  she  passed,  yet  walking  eagerly 
so  as  to  be  at  the  gate,  as  was  her  habit,  when 
her  captain  returned  from  stables;  seeing 
which,  some  of  the  younger  officers  tried  to 
detain  her  or  impede  her  way.  "  The  captain 
has  stopped  to  take  a  drink  at  Buxton's,  Mrs. 
Graf  ton.  I  wouldn't  hurry  if  I  were  you," 
said  one  mendacious,  mischievous  sub.  "I'll 
leave  it  to  Merriam  if  he  hasn't,"  thereby  de- 
taining Merriam,  who  was  just  as  eager,  ap- 
parently, to  reach  his  own  gate  and  receive 
the  fond  welcome  in  Floy's  deep,  dark  brown 
eyes.  Others,  too,  joined  the  laughing  con- 
spiracy, and  gazing  beyond  them  and  seeing 
nothing  of  her  lord  among  the  groups  still 
farther  to  the  rear,  she  as  laughingly  surren- 
dered and  entered  into  joyous  chat  with  her 
captors — the  sight  of  one  of  the  youngest, 
brightest,  and  fairest  of  their  number  sur- 
rounded by  half  a  dozen  gallants  being  natu- 
rally a  comfort  to  the  lookers-on  along  the 
quarters — and  when  Randy,  lifting  his  cap, 
would  have  deserted  them  and  gone  his  way 
she  was  just  coquette  enough  to  care  to  hold 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  I©7 

the  exhibition — and  her  attendants — a  moment 
longer. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Merriam!  Don't  go  yet.  I've 
really  important  news  for  you.  Who  do  you 
think  is  coming  to  visit  us?" 

Randy  had  no  idea.  He  smiled  politely, 
even  pleasantly,  and  said  he  couldn't  imagine. 

"Well,  but  guess,"  persisted  Mrs.  Grafton, 
her  very  pretty  face  very  full  of  importance. 

"The  Walkers,  from  Stoneman?"  suggested 
Randy. 

"  No,  indeed !  Nobody  from  that  way.  It's 
from  the  East." 

"Mrs.  and  Miss  Pollard  from  Marcy?" 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  No  army  people  at  all, 
but  somebody  you  know  very  well  and  like 
very  much." 

Then  Randy  began  to  look  queer,  but  still 
couldn't  begin  to  guess.  "I'm  sure  I'm  at  a 
loss,"  he  faltered. 

"Why,  Fanny  McLane,  of  course!  She's 
been  in  miserable  health  since  her  husband 
died,  and  they've  practically  ordered  her  to 
try  this  climate;  so  she's  coming  to  me. 
She'll  be  here  Saturday.  But  of  course  you 


108  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

know  she's  in  deep  mourning  yet  and  can't 
go  anywhere." 

For  a  moment  Merriam  was  too  amazed — 
too  startled — to  trust  himself  to  speak,  and  she 
saw  it,  and  with  the  quick  intuition  of  her  sex 
saw,  too,  that  something  must  be  done  to  re- 
lieve the  embarrassment  that  would  fall  upon 
the  party. 

"She  was  one  of  my  bridesmaids, — Fanny 
Hay  ward, "  she  hurriedly  explained  to  the  sur- 
rounding group — "  Mr.  Merriam's  bridesmaid, 
and  the  loveliest  girl  you  ever  saw;  and,  just 
think  of  it,  Mr.  Minturn,  now  she's  a  discon- 
solate widow  with  I  don't  know  how  much 
money  all  her  own,"  and  then  nervously  she 
cast  an  anxious  glance  at  Merriam  and  again 
addressed  him,  as  though  in  self-defense. 
"You  know  we  visited  with  her  on  our  way 
West,  and  she  told  me  of  her  charming  meet- 
ing with  you  and  Mrs.  Merriam  on  your  wed- 
ding journey,  and  the  lovely  times  you  had 
before  they  had  to  go  to  San  Francisco/'  and 
now  her  voice  had  become  timid  and  appeal- 
ing, for  she  saw  something  was  very,  very 
much  amiss.  Merriam's  face  had  flushed, 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  IOQ 

even  through  its  coat  of  tan,  but  was  now  a 
yellow-brown,  all  its  happy,  healthful  glow 
vanished,  and  Billy  Whittaker,  looking  un- 
easily at  him,  had  linked  an  arm  in  his  and 
seemed  about  to  urge  him  to  come  away;  yet 
Merriam  had  to  say  something,  and  this,  in 
evident  constraint,  is  what  he  said: 

"Yes — we — did  meet — Mrs.  McLane — I'm 
very  sorry  to  hear  she's  been  ill,  and  am  much 
surprised  to  hear  she's  coming  here.  Excuse 
me,  Mrs.  Grafton,  I  must  hurry  on." 

That  evening  Floy  and  her  husband  failed 
to  attend  the  formal  hop  which  was  held  each 
week,  and  their  absence  was  noted,  for  she 
loved  to  dance,  and  had  promised  waltzes  and 
two-steps  without  number  to  her  old  friends  of 
the  Riflers  and  the  cavalry  both.  Some  one 
proposed  going  after  them.  Mrs.  Hayne 
did  call  on  her  way  home,  for  she  left  early, 
and  inquired  anxiously  for  Florence.  "She 
has  a  severe  headache, "said  Randy,  who  came 
to  the  door  with  gloom  in  his  eyes,  "  and  she 
felt  too  good-for-nothing  to  attempt  it,  so  I 
persuaded  her  to  go  to  her  room.''  He  asked 
them  in,  but  did  not  invite.  Both  Hayne  and 


lit*  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

his  wife  noted  that,  and  both  felt  they  knew 
the  cause  of  all  the  trouble  when  they  met 
Whittaker  ten  minutes  later  and  learned  from 
him  that  the  Graftons  expected  a  guest  from 
the  East  on  Saturday — Mrs.  McLane. 

And  Saturday  evening  she  came,  almost  at 
the  same  hour  at  which  she  first  set  eyes  on 
that  dreary  landscape,  and  wondered  what  was 
the  name  of  those  far,  blue  hills,  and  who 
those  officers  and  ladies  could  be.  But  this 
time  it  was  the  train  from  the  northeast  that 
bore  her  in,  and  its  companion  from  the  "  Sun- 
set Route"  was  not  yet  there ;  neither  was  there 
a  swarm  of  officers  and  ladies.  There  was 
only  one  of  each — a  grave,  dignified,  soldierly 
man  in  undress  uniform — a  young,  pretty, 
stylishly  attired  dame  at  his  side.  The  Pull- 
man came  to  a  stop  at  the  platform,  the  porter 
sprang  out  laden  with  bags  and  bundles;  the 
conductor  stepped  off  and  raised  his  cap  and 
offered  his  hand  to  a  vision  of  feminine 
charms,  a  fair,  sweet,  smiling  face  framed  in 
dainty  little  cap.  The  heavy  crape  veil  was 
thrown  back,  and  the  slender,  rounded  form 
was  decked  in  sombre  weeds,  yet  how  grace- 


ARMY  WIFR.  in 

fully,  effectively  was  it  draped.  Even  Graf- 
ton  could  not  fail  to  note  it.  No  sign  of  dust 
and  grime  of  travel  was  there.  The  shroud- 
ing, protecting  veil  and  duster  had  been  dis- 
carded only  just  before  they  reached  the 
station;  Annette  had  stowed  them  carefully 
away  in  the  shawl-strap,  while  her  bereaved 
mistress  carefully  and  skilfully  arrayed  her- 
self in  veil  and  bonnet  that  had  been  boxed 
throughout  the  journey.  She  stepped  forth 
into  Harriet's  welcoming  arms  as  trim  as 
though  she  herself  had  just  issued  from  a 
bandbox,  her  joy  at  being  once  more  with 
such  fond  friends  decorously  tempered  by  the 
sense  of  her  ever-present,  all-pervading  sor- 
row, and  the  consciousness  of  her  delicate  and 
uncertain  health.  Only  a  moment  did  she 
allow  herself  in  Harriet's  embrace.  No  time 
must  be  lost  in  precipitating  herself  upon  the 
massive  and  not  too  eloquently  welcoming  cap- 
tain, who  held  out  a  hand  in  his  untutored 
army  way,  as  hands  had  been  extended  for  the 
score  of  years  he  had  been  in  service,  and  not 
at  the  height  of  the  shoulders  as  was  hers, 
after  the  alien  mode  of  the  go's.  Into  his 


II*  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

arms  she  did.  not  throw  herself,  yet  looked  she 
as  she  meant  to  look  and  have  him  see  her 
look,  and  be  impressed  accordingly,  as  though 
such  was  her  sense  of  his  lofty  character  and  her 
own  need  of  some  strong  arm  on  which  to  lean, 
she  might  even  be  glad  to  find  shelter  there. 

"  There  was  always  something  so  appealing 
about  Fan,"  said  Mrs.  Grafton  sometimes,  and 
indeed  there  was. 

And  then  the  train  moved  on,  and  Grafton 
looked  grimly  at  the  stack  of  Saratogas  up  the 
platform,  while  the  orderly  was  loading  bags, 
baskets,  and  bundles  into  the  roomy  Concord 
wagon,  and  the  quartermaster's  team  came  rat- 
tling alongside  to  load  up  with  heavy  luggage. 

"  I  won't  have  to  see — anybody  to-night,  will 
I,  dearest?"  pleaded  the  widow  of  her  devoted 
friend,  as  they  bowled  away  to  the  post.  "  I  look 
like  a  hag  after  this  dreadful  journey,  and  I'm 
so  tired ,  Oh !  do  you  get  soft  water  here,  or 
is  it  all  this  wretched  alkali?"  and  she  studied 
her  friend's  already  suffering  complexion  and 
read  her  answer  there.  No  matter;  she  had 
borax  and — other  correctives — in  abundance. 

Inspection  was  all  over.     The  cavalry  were 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  113 

all  at  stables  t!o^n  tinder  the  bluff  as  they 
whirled  into  the  great,  spreading  garrison  and 
went  spinning  up  the  roadway  in  front  of  offi- 
cers' quarters.  The  captain  lifted  both  ladies 
out  at  the  gate  and  assisted  Annette  to  alight; 
then,  giving  brief  direction  to  the  servant,  he 
raised  his  cap:  "And  now  you  are  home,  Mrs. 
McLane,  and  I  will  leave  you  to  Harriet  while 
I  go  down  to  my  horses  awhile,"  and  Fan  fol- 
lowed him  with  swimming  eyes. 

"How  blessed  you  are,  Harriet!"  she  mur- 
mured. "So  strong,  so  noble  a  man!  Ah, 
I  have  so  needed  you — both.  I'm  so  thankful 
to  be  here." 

And  as  they  led  her  beneath  the  shaded 
porch,  and  bright  eyes  on  other  porches  looked 
eagerly  on,  and  her  own  bright,  brimming 
eyes  took  in  the  many  odd,  unfamiliar  yet  at- 
tractive surroundings  in  this  cosy  army  home, 
Fan  was  wondering  how  she  could  ever  have 
thought  of  such  a  life — how  it  was  possible 
for  Harriet  to  be  happy  in  it,  while  her  hostess 
was  already  vaguely  wondering  if,  after  all, 
she  was  quite  as  content  and  happy  as  she  was 
before  Fanny  came. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  WEEK  went  by,  and  by  that  time,  as  a 
member  of  the  Graf  ton  household  and  a  social 
success  at  Sedgwick,  the  lovely  widow  was  an 
established  fact.  Everybody,  as  in  duty  bound, 
had  called  within  the  seven  days,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Merriam  with  the  others  and  not  among  the 
last;  but  they  chose  Tuesday  evening,  which 
was  not  a  hop  night,  but  the  very  evening  on 
which  dozens  of  others  would  be  calling,  and 
even  then  they  went  in  company  with  the 
Haynes,  and  found,  as  they  expected — indeed 
as  they  knew — the  little  army  parlor  full  of 
people. 

Mrs.  McLane's  welcome  was  charming. 
Already  the  soft  air  and  sunshine,  as  she  was 
saying,  had  been  of  infinite  benefit,  and  her 
physician  must  have  known  exactly  what  to 
prescribe  for  her,  for  she  felt  ever  so  much 
better,  and  her  cough  was  so  much  less  fre- 
quent Certainly  she  was  looking  wondrously 
114 


The  Rivals.    Mrs.  Merriam—*  O4,  t w  &**'    **        *>f*    ,; 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  n5 

well— whether  Dame  Nature  or  some  more 
subtle  artist  had  touched  the  rounded  cheeks 
and  the  framework  of  those  lustrous  eyes.  As 
the  quartette  entered,  Mrs.  Hayne,  the  elder 
matron,  leading,  and  the  men  arose  and  the 
women  callers  looked  smilingly  on,  and  Mrs. 
Grafton  gracefully  presented  the  first  comer, 
the  welcome  accorded  Mrs.  Hayne  was  cordial 
and  gracious,  with  just  a  tinge  of  reserve,  but 
it  was  Florence,  standing  with  flushed  cheeks 
just  behind  her  friend  and  ally,  the  lovely 
blue  eyes  sought  out  and  then  lighted  instantly 
with  joy  and  recognition.  Both  slender  white 
hands  were  extended,  and  with  a  little  cry  of 
''Mrs.  Merriam!  Oh,  how  glad  I  am  to  see 
you  again !"  the  accomplished  little  lady  stepped 
forward,  uplifted  her  soft  lips,  and — kissed  her. 
What  Florence  would  have  looked  and  said  or 
done  had  she  not  been  fully  forewarned  can- 
not  be  hazarded  here.  "  I  think  it  more  than 
probable  that  she  will  kiss  you,  Floy,"  Mer- 
riam had  said,  "so  look  as  unconcerned  as  you 
can/*  Look  unconcerned  Floy  did  not.  She 
reddened.  She  almost  recoiled,  but  Randolph 
was  at  her  elbow,  and  bent  quickly  forward  in 


If*  AN  AJUJttY   WIFE. 

admirable  time,  with  most  audacious  pleas- 
antry.  Any  one  would  have  sworn  that  he 
hoped  to  be  similarly  welcomed.  It  was  more 
than  Mrs.  McLane  had  bargained  for. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Merriam !"  she  exclaimed,  start- 
ing back  in  apparent  confusion  and  astonish- 
ment. 

"Do  not  be  disconcerted,"  said  he,  with 
placid  smile.  "  I've  always  understood  that  a 
man  should  share  his  wife's  joys  as  well  as 
her  sorrows,"  but  the  rest  was  lost  because 
everybody  began  to  laugh,  and  to  believe,  as 
Mrs.  Hayne  and  Mrs.  Grafton  did  not,  that  the 
relations  between  the  McLanes  and  Merriams 
on  that  idyllic  wedding  journey  must  indeed 
have  been  delightful.  There  were  two  men, 
however,  who  laughed  not — Hayne  and  Whit- 
taker.  Grafton  was  away  on  duty,  and  there 
was  one  woman  who  felt  a  stinging  sense  of 
defeat — Fanny  McLane  herself.  In  that  one 
action  on  the  part  of  Merriam  there  was  mani- 
fest titter  indifference  to  her  former  fascina- 
tions,  utter  defiance  of  her  powers. 

A  dozen  people,  altogether,  must  have  been 
gathered  in  the  room  at  the  moment,  and  some 


AN  ARMY    WtFZ.  1 17 

officers  were  seated  on  the  veranda  without. 
There  were  not  chairs  enough,  so  the  men 
gossiped  about  the  piano,  while  the  women 
grouped  about  the  guest,  and  in  the  general 
chatter  Mrs.  McLane  had  no  opportunity  of 
singling  out  and  renewing  her  advance  upon 
Mrs.  Merriam.  Presently  those  who  had  been 
there  longest  arose  to  go,  and  their  place  was 
speedily  taken  by  other  arrivals;  that  soon  let 
the  Haynes  and  Merriams  out,  and  as  they 
tripped  away  homeward  each  seemed  to  draw 
a  long  breath. 

"Won't  you  come  in  and  sit  a  little  while?" 
begged  Mrs.  Hayne,  as  they  neared  the  cap- 
tain's gate. 

"Not  to-night,  thanks,"  was  Merriam 's  re- 
ply, as  he  felt  Floy's  prompt  twitch  at  his 
sleeve.  She  was  still  nervous.  She  wished 
to  get  away  and  to  bear  him  with  her. 

"Merriam,"  said  Hayne,  "I  admire  your 
nerve,  perhaps  I  should  say  your  cheek." 

"Well,  it  was  rather  a  trying  moment,"  said 
Merriam  gravely.  "Florence  would  rather 
be  struck  than  kissed  by  her,  and  I  feared  she 
could  not  avoid  showing  it " 


Il8  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

"Well,  you  created  a  diversion,  certainly,*1 
said  Hayne.  "Good-night,  if  you  must  go." 
But  Mrs.  Hayne  did  not  speak  until  they  were 
out  of  sight.  She  was  anxiously  watching 
Florence,  who,  beyond  a  barely  audible  "  Good- 
night," had  not  uttered  a  word. 

"Lawrence/'  said  she  finally,  "that  may 
have  been  a  stroke  of  finesse  on  Mr.  Merriam's 
part,  and  may  have  created  a  diversion,  as  you 
say,  and  distracted  attention  from  Floy,  but — 
she  didn't  like  it." 

Some  of  the  fair  widow's  calls  were  returned 
almost  immediately,  the  Merriams'  among  the 
first,  although  the  Merriams  were  not  among 
the  first  to  welcome  her  arrival.  As  luck 
would  have  it,  Merriam  was  out  on  some  troop 
duty.  Mrs.  Merriam  saw  her  coming,  accom- 
panied by  Mrs.  Graf  ton,  and  fairly  flew  up- 
stairs to  her  room  instead  of  first  giving 
instructions  to  her  servant,  as  an  older  soldier 
of  society  would  have  done.  In  consequence 
the  Chinaman  admitted  her  ^caller  to  Floy's 
pretty  parlor,  and  went  in  search  of  the  lady 
of  the  house.  Mrs.  Grafton  seated  herself  in 
an  easy-chair,  but  Fanny  flitted  rapidly  frort* 


ARM?   WIFE.  "9 

point  to  point,  scanning  pictures,  books,  and 
bric-a-brac.  "John"  presently  reappeared, 
smiling  vacuously. 

"No  can  see.  She  sick,  velly,"  he  sturdily 
reported. 

Mrs.  Grafton  looked  concerned;    Mrs.   Me 
Lane  annoyed. 

"I'm  sure  I  saw  her  on  the  tennis  court  not 
an  hour  since,"  she  muttered  to  her  hostess, 
as,  after  proper  expressions  of  sympathy  and 
regret,  they  regained  the  roadway. 

"Well,  she  hasn't  been  looking  well  for 
some  days,"  said  Mrs.  Grafton,  "and  it's  quite 
possible  slie  is  ill." 

The  schoolmates  had  been  housed  together 
only  a  few  days  before  Mrs.  Grafton  became 
convinced  that  Fanny's  devotions  were  rapidly 
waning,  that  with  recovering  health  and  bloom 
and  spirits  the  crying  need  for  the  one  dear 
friend  to  lean  on  had  vanished.  Less  and  less 
grew  the  hours  of  confidential  chat.  More 
and  more  was  the  late  disconsolate  widow  be- 
coming interested,  not  to  say  absorbed,  in  the 
details  of  garrison  life.  Freeman,  formerly 
of  the  — th,  but  now  a  squadron  commandet 


**>  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

at  Sedgwick,  remarked  that  the  lady  was  "be- 
ginning  to  take  notice  uncommonly  early,"  and 
Mm  turn,  with  whom  she  was  quite  ready  to 
walk  and  even  to  visit  the  tennis  court,  was 
hoar 3  to  ask  if  they  never  had  such  things  as 
half-mourning  hops.  Whittaker,  who  was 
sulky  about  something  and  preternaturally 
stately  as  a  consequence,  reminded  him  that 
Mrs.  McLane  was  still  in  deep  mourning, 
— full  mourning — to  which  a  cynic  in  shoul- 
der-straps who  happened  to  be  present  replied 
that  he  only  wished  that  other  fulls  could  be 
as  lightly  worn.  "  She  may  have  been  in  the 
depths  of  woe  before  she  left  Chicago,  as  Mrs. 
Graf  ton  declares  she  was,"  said  Mrs.  Buxton, 
a  lady  with  years  of  experiences,  "but  she's 
bravely  over  it  soon  enough.  She'll  be  dane- 
ing  next."  And  this  unchristian,  unchari- 
table remark  was  called  forth  by  the  sight  of 
the  lady  going  to  ride  with  Whittaker — Whit- 
taker,  who  at  first  could  hardly  be  induced  to 
call,  and  who  now  could  hardly  be  induced  to 
believe  it  time  to  go. 

And  of  course  before  she  had  been  at  the 
post  a  week  everybody  knew  that  this  was  the 


121 

woman  to  whom  Merriam  was  at  least  believed 
to  be  engaged  two  years  before,  and  that  added 
to  the  thrilling  interest  of  the  situation.  For 
a  little  while  it  had  been  quite  a  problem  how 
to  entertain  her.  She  couldn't  go  to  dances  or 
dinners.  She  could  perhaps  ride  and  play  ten- 
nis, but  tennis  she  did  not  care  for.  Riding 
was  unpleasant  because  there  were  no  winding 
wood  roads,  no  elastic  turf.  The  mesa  was 
pebbly  or  sandy  by  turns,  the  cafion  narrow, 
the  roads  dusty.  Ladies'  lunches,  very,  very 
quiet  and  informal,  she  consented  to  attend, 
but  she  did  not  care  for  lunches.  The  women 
presently  declared  she  did  not  care  for  women. 
The  men,  especially  Minturn  and  Whitta- 
ker,  had  early  become  devoted  to  her,  and 
there  could  be  no  doubt  of  her  powers  of  fas- 
cination. The  gunner  and  the  trooper  grew 
cold  and  constrained  in  their  manner  toward 
each  other,  and  Whittaker  quit  going,  as  go  he 
used  to  day  and  night,  to  Hayne's  or  Merri- 
am's.  The  colonel's  wife,  dying  to  be  hospi- 
table, had  urged  a  little,  quiet,  home  dinner. 
*'  Jttst  yourself,  your  friends  the  Graftons  and 
Merriams,  and,  say,  Mr.  Minturn."  Mrs. 


122  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

Grafton  assured  the  kind  army  woman  that 
Mrs.  McLane  would  not  think  of  accepting. 
Mrs.  McLane  amazed  her  hostess  by  eventu- 
ally saying  yes. 

Since  the  Tuesday  evening  of  their  call,  not 
once  had  the  Merriams  held  conversation  with 
the  widow.  She  called,  as  has  been  seen, 
and  Mrs.  Merriam  had  to  be  excused.  Mrs. 
Merriam  used  to  love  tennis,  but  quit  the  game 
as  soon  as  Mrs.  McLane  began  coming  to  the 
court.  Mrs.  Merriam,  who  used  to  love  to 
ride  with  Randy,  had  discontinued  it  a  day  or 
two  after  that  alleged  illness,  as  though  to 
carry  out  the  illusion,  but  by  the  Thursday 
she  again  appeared  in  saddle  and  galloped  out 
upon  the  mesa  by  her  husband's  side.  Re- 
turning they  met  Mrs.  McLane  just  starting 
out  with  her  gunner  friend,  and  the  ice  had 
to  be  broken.  The  stylishly  habited  widow 
beamed  on  both,  begged  Floy  to  let  her  know 
at  what  hour  they  could  ride  next  day,  as  she 
adored  it  of  all  things,  and  next  day  Floy's 
horse  was  reported  "dead  lame,"  and  she 
would  ride  no  other.  When  Mrs.  Colonel's 
invitation  came  for  that  utterly  unlooked-for 


"  Stari;:^  info  vacancy  as  she  did  so. 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  123 

dinner,  the  Merriams  were  cornered,  for  Floy, 
though  looking  sallow  and  heavy-eyed  now, 
was  not  really  ill  and  could  urge  no  excuse. 
Garrison  dinner  "bids"  must  be  answered  as 
promptly  as  those  in  city  life.  "We've  got  to 
go,  dear,"  said  Merriam  calmly,  "so  send  our 
acceptance." 

"I  won't  go,"  said  Floy  to  herself,  as  she 
penned  and  signed  the  little  note,  and  when 
Saturday  came  she  was  too  ill  to  leave  her  bed. 
Mrs.  Hayne  came  to  minister  to  and  sit  with 
her.  The  Freemans  were  bidden  instead,  and 
Mrs.  Freeman  could  have  stamped  her  pretty 
foot  in  vexation,  for  neither  she  nor  her  lord 
thought  it  the  proper  thing  for  Mrs.  McLane 
to  be  going  to  dinners  so  early  in  her  widow- 
hood ;  besides,  there  were  other  reasons. 

The  dinner  came  off,  however,  and  was  a 
dismal  feast  with  a  dramatic  conclusion. 

As  has  been  shown',  only  twice  had  Mrs. 
McLane  had  speech  with  Merriam  during  the 
seven  days,  and  both  times  it  was  in  presence 
of  his  wife.  The  Graftons,  Haynes,  and  Free- 
mans  were  delighted  with  him  as  a  conse- 
quence, and  rejoiced  in  secret  over  her,  But 


124  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

not  a  whit  did  the  widow  show  disappointment 
or  discomfiture.  She  was  amply  entertained, 
apparently,  with  the  increasing  devotions  of 
Minturn  and  Whittaker,  and  the  latter  spent 
two  miserable  hours  this  Saturday  evening 
in  jealous  contemplation  of  his  own  outcast 
lot  and  Minturn 's  presumable  bliss.  Yet  the 
colonel  could  not  have  both  to  dinner,  so  Mrs. 
Colonel  was  allowed  to  decide,  and  her  prefer- 
ence was  for  the  artilleryman.  The  Graftons 
went  with  rather  bad  grace,  Mrs.  Grafton 
warning  her  guest  that  the  whole  garrison 
would  be  talking  of  her  inconstancy,  but,  as 
Ned  Parry  remarked  on  a  previous  occasion, 
Fan  had  had  her  own  way  ever  since  she  cut 
her  first  tooth,  and  did  not  propose  to  be  ruled 
now. 

"Almost  the  last  words  Mr.  McLane  whis- 
pered," said  she  indignantly,  "were  to  im- 
plore me  not  to  waste  my  youth  in  vain 
lamentation.  'Life  is  too  short  to  be  spent  in 
tears,'  were  his  very  words,"  and  evidently 
the  widow  was  here  in  full  sympathy  with  the 
expressed  or  reported  views  of  the  dear  de- 
parted. She  went.  She  looked  uncommonly 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  125 

pretty  in  a  gown  of  deepest,  most  sombre,  and 
most  expensive  crape.  She  sat  at  the  colonel's 
right,  and  made  eyes  at  him  all  through  din- 
ner, leaving  Minturn  on  her  right  to  sulk  and 
scowl  and  seek  comfort  in  the  commandant's 
champagne.  Fanny  herself  partook  not  too 
sparingly  of  this  seductive  fluid,  and  was 
sparkling  with  animation  and  good  spirits 
when,  just  before  coffee  was  served — just  as 
the  trumpets  were  sounding -tattoo  out  on  the 
moonlit  parade,  a  servant  came  and  whispered 
to  the  master  of  the  house. 

"Tell  him  I'm  at  dinher  and  can't  see  him 
now." 

The  servant  vanished,  then  reappeared, 
bent  and  whispered  again. 

"Tell  him  I'm  at  dinner  and  won't  see  him 
now,"  said  the  colonel,  not  unwilling  to  im- 
press on  his  fair  guest  the  idea  of  his  profes- 
sional importance  and  personal  force.  The 
servant  bent  and  whispered  again,  whereat  the 
colonel  changed  color,  and  glanced  up  uncer- 
tainly in  the  troubled  face  of  the  messenger, 
then  as  uncertainly  aroun'd  the  table,  his  eyes 
only  for  an  instant  meeting  those  of  his  guest 


126  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

"  Will  you  excuse  me  a  moment,  my  dear?" 
he  said  to  his  wife,  and  left  the  table  and  the 
room. 

Conversation  went  on  somewhat  constrain- 
edly. Mrs.  McLane,  intent  on  fascinating  the 
oolonel,  had  rather  ignored  the  rest.  Minturn 
was  plainly  in  the  sulks,  and  Mrs.  Colonel, 
with  anxiety  in  her  eyes,  was  plainly  listening 
to  the  hurried  talk  in  the  outer  room.  Pres- 
ently in  came  the  servant.  Would  Captain 
Grafton  please  join  the  colonel  in  the  parlor, 
and,  wondering,  Grafton  went. 

"It's  that  dreadful  telegraph  operator,"  said 
Mrs.  Colonel,  in  a  low,  troubled  tone.  "It's 
some  bad  news.  Indian  outbreak,  probably, 
or  he'd  never  be  so  insistent." 

Then  all  conversation  seemed  to  drag,  and 
people  only  spoke  in  monosyllables  or  haz- 
arded some  guess  as  to  what  could  be  the 
matter. 

But  it  wasn't  Indians.  It  wasn't  warfare. 
It  was  only  the  soldier  telegrapher  at  the  post, 
who  bore  with  him  a  message  which  the  opera- 
tor at  the  Junction  had  received  positive  in- 
structions from  the  Eastern  manager  to  deli 


AAT  ARMY 

at  once  and  report  delivery  and  get  an  answer. 
It  was  for  Mrs.  McLane.  So  there  was  noth- 
ing for  it  but  to  call  her,  and  with  sudden 
panic  in  her  eyes  she  hurried  into  the  parlor, 
shrank  for  a  moment  from  the  proffered  dis- 
patch— then,  with  an  effort  at  self-control,  took 
it,  tore  it  open,  read  with  dilating  eyes,  lifted 
her  hand  to  her  face  as  though  in  bewilder- 
ment and  dismay,  staring  into  vacancy  as  she 
did  so,  and  then  suddenly,  without  a  moan, 
without  a  sound  from  her  lips,  went  down  in  a 
limp  heap  upon  the  bear-skin  rug  whereon  she 
stood,  and  the  ladies  rushed  to — out  could  not—- 
revive her. 

Full  half  an  hour  they  labored  over  her. 
The  messenger  had  dashed  for  the  doctor  and 
brought  him  to  the  scene.  Graf  ton  had  res- 
cued the  paper  just  as  it  seemed  about  to  flut- 
ter into  the  fireplace,  folding  and  stowing  it 
away  in  his  coat-pocket,  and  not  until  after 
ten  did  she  seem  to  recover  consciousness,  not 
until  near  the  sounding  of  taps  could  they 
bear  her  home,  and  then  the  messenger  came 
back.  The  operator  at  the  Junction  said  they 
must  have  report  of  the  receipt  of  the  mes- 


128 

sage,  and  some  answer:  this  was  imperative. 
Grafton  appealed  to  the  doctor.  The  doctor 
said  Mrs.  McLane  was  only  semi-conscious 
and  could  answer  nothing.  "She  is  your 
guest,  man.  Read  the  dispatch  and  reply  as 
best  you  can.  Whatever  its  contents,  they 
have  shocked  her  seriously/' 

And  so  finally  Grafton  read  the  message 
and  could  fathom  only  a  portion  of  its  meaning. 

"Arrested,  Chicago.  Your  uncle  stricken — 
paralysis.  You  will  be  summoned.  Secure 
papers,  otherwise  lose  everything. 

"C.  M." 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THREE  days  after  the  colonel's  dinner,  Mrs, 
McLane  was  pronounced  sufficiently  well  t< 
take  the  open  air,  but  did  not  look  sufficient!} 
well,  in  her  own  opinion,  to  take  the  hint,  noi 
did  Mrs.  Grafton  too  eagerly  urge.  By  this 
time  the  hostess  was  fully  convinced  that  Fan- 
ny was  far  from  being  the  frank,  confiding 
creature  she  had  pictured  herself  to  be ;  that 
she  had  come  to  Sedgwick  with  other  purpose 
in  view  than  that  of  seeking  the  sympathy  and 
counsel  of  her  erstwhile  schoolmate ;  that  she 
was  concealing  from  her,  to  whom  she  once 
longed  to  unbosom  her  every  thought,  some 
vital  and  thrilling  circumstance,  and,  worst  of 
all,  that  Captain  Grafton  now  knew  what  it 
was,  and  wouldn't  tell.  This  perhaps,  was 
almost  unpardonable.  In  vain  had  Mrs.  Graf- 
ton  insinuated,  inquired,  insisted,  and  finally 
implored.  Her  husband  was  gentle,  but  ob« 
durate. 


ARM Yl 

'"I  know  nothing,  Harriet,"  he  simply  said, 
"  I  do,  perhaps,  conjecture,  but  all  I  conjecture 
is  derived  from  that  dispatch,  the  contents  of 
which  should  be  seen  and  known  only  by  your 
friend  the — your  friend  and  once-upon-a-tims 
bridesmaid.  ..  If  she  choose  to  tell  you,  well 
and  good,  but  I  cannot." 

But  he  told  Mrs.  McLane  what  he  had  read 
without  telling  what  he  conjectured,  and  then 
furthermore  told  her  what  he  had  done—wired 
to  Aunt  Charlotte  that  her  niece  was  prostrated 
by  the  receipt  of  her  dispatch,  and  might  not 
be  able  to  reply  for  several  days,  so  Aunt 
Charlotte  was  existing  without  further  knowl. 
edge  of  the  condition  of  her  tiiece  as  placidly, 
let  tis  hope,  as  was  her  niece  without  further 
knowledge  of  the  condition  of  her  uncle. 
'  It  was  on  this  third  day  when  the  doc- 
tor left,  after  saying  Mrs.  McLane  ought  to  go 
and  take  a  drive  or  a  ride,  that  Graf  ton  wrote 
to  her  a  few  words  reporting  that  he  had  read 
Aunt  Charlotte's  dispatch  and  replied  to  it  as 
above  stated.  This  note  he,  sent  in  by  An- 
nette. Mrs.  Graflon  was  receiving  sympathiz- 
ing callers  at  the  moment,  and  the  captain 


""'  Intently  Mernam  eyed  the  Captain  s  face 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  tjl 

bade  Annette  say  that  if  lie  could  be  of  any 
further  service  Mas.  McLane  should  let  him 
know.  Presently  Annette  returned  with  a 
note. 

"1  am  so  distracted,"  it  said,  "so  friendless, 
I  do  not  know  what  to  do.  You  are  the  only 
man  upon  whose  counsel  I  can  depend,  but 
even  that  is  denied  me,  for  Harriet  has  turned 
cold  and  unkind.  Because  I  cannot  tell  her 
the  secrets  of  others  she  thinks  me  false  to  our 
old  friendship,  and  she  has  changed  to  me  so 
much  that  were  I  able  to  travel  I  should  go  at 
once,  only  how  could  we  explain?  Oh,  I  long 
to  tell  you  the  whole  story,  but  I  cannot !  I 
must  not !  and  I  must  not  do  that  which  might 
increase  her  suspicion — "  But  here  Grafton 
began  to  frown  angrily.  He  read  no  further, 
though  there  were  half  a  dozen  lines  on  the 
following  page,  but  tossed  the  whole  thing  into 
the  open  fireplace,  tramped  right  up-stairs  and 
tapped  at  the  guest-room  door. 

"  Can  you  come  to  the  door  a  moment,  Mrs. 
McLane ?"  he  asked. 

There  was  the  sound  of  sudden  rush  and 
rustle  within,  then  her  light  footfall,  the  clack 


132  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

of    the  door-knob,  and    her  voice,   low  and 

sweet, 

"You  startled  me  so,"  she  said,  through  the 
inch-wide  aperture  that  appeared,  but  left  her 
invisible.  "  I  dreaded  that  it  was  another  tele- 
gram. Oh,  I'm  not  fit  to  be  seen,  but " 

"I  don't  w — 1  don't  need  to  see  you,  Mrs. 
McLane,"  said  he  stoutly.  "We  can  converse 
perfectly  well,  as  Annette  is  below  stairs.  All 
I  wish  to  *ay  is  tfcisj  if  I  earn  be  of  service— in 
sending  off  any  letters  or  dispatches  to  your 
friends,  command  me.  But  really,  Mrs.  Me- 
Lane,  there  is  no  need  of  telling  me  anything 
about  the  matter." 

"But  I  have  to,  Captain  Graf  ton,"  and  the 
doot  opened  a  bit  wider.  "  I  must  have  your 
advice.  I  must  do  something  right  away,  and 
you're  the  only  one  who  can  help  me." 

"Then  1*11  ask  Harriet  to  come  here  at 
once,"  said  he,  and,  suiting  action  to  words, 
started  for  the  stairway. 

She  rushed  out  after  him,  dishevelled,  pal. 
lid.  "Oh,  I  cannot  tell  Harriet,"  she  cried. 

"Then,  Mrs.  McLane,  you  cannot  tell  me." 

For  a  moment  she  looked  at  him  in  amaze. 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  133 

*  I  will  wire  for  your  lawyer,  Mr.  Parry,*'  he 
went  on  calmly.  "  He  can  advise  what  I  prob- 
ably could  not." 

"  He  cannot  advise  as  you  can,  captain.  It's 
a  matter  he  knows  nothing  about.  I've  got  to 
see  Mr.  Merriam,  and  he  avoids  me  even  worse 
than  you  do,  than — in  fact  everybody  does  now 
that  I'm  in  deep  trouble,"  she  wailed. 

"  I  am  sure  Mr.  Merriam  will  come  to  you  if 
there  is  anything  of  importance,"  said  Graf  ton 
gravely.  "  I  will  see  him  at  stables,  and  the 
call  is  sounding  now." 

"Oh,  not  to-day — not  to-day.  To-morrow 
perhaps.  l)ut  not  to-day.  I  really  cannot  see 
him  just  yet.  I'm  so  unstrung — and  he 
mustn't  let  her — his  wife,  know.  She'll  never 
rest  till  she's  worried  it  all  out  of  him." 

"He  will  let  his  wife  know,"  said  Grafton 
calmly,  "  and  is  wise  in  so  doing,  but  she  will 
not  be  apt  to  make  inquiries."  Then  he 
turned  and  left  her. 

There  were  two  restless  and  unhappy  men 
at  Sedgwick  now — gunner  and  trooper — Min- 
turn  and  Whittaker,  and,  each  at  his  appropri- 
ate stable,  managed  to  intercept  the  troop 


134  AN  ARMY    WIFE. 

commander  on  the  way  to  his  own,  each  im- 
portunate for  tidings  of  the  fair  invalid,  each 
resentful  of  his  indifference  and  unpitying  re- 
sponse. Grafton  was  a  warm  friend  where  he 
liked,  but  an  unbeliever  and  a  cynic  where  he 
did  not,  and  Grafton  believed  that  he  had  fath- 
omed Fanny  McLane's  shallow  nature  and 
secret  purpose,  and  was  intolerant  of  her  to 
the  verge  of  rudeness.  He  loved  his  wife. 
He  mourned  the  semi-deception  in  which  she 
had  indulged  in  having,  against  his  wishes, 
brought  her  former  friend  within  their  gates. 
But  now  he  looked  upon  Harriet  as  being  quite 
sufficiently  punished,  and  equally  willing  that 
Mrs.  McLane  should  take  herself  elsewhere. 
If,  therefore,  Merriam  would  see  her  and  do — • 
or  refuse  to  do — that  which  she  demanded  of 
him,  Grafton  felt  that  he  might  speed  his  part- 
ing guest  and  relieve  not  only  his  own  but  his 
fair  wife's  shoulders  of  a  heavy  load.  He  was 
late  reaching  stables,  a  fact  burly  old  Buxton 
would  be  quick  to  notice  and  as  quick  to  re- 
buke. He  had  delayed  only  a  minute  or  two 
after  the  sounding  of  the  call,  because  he 
wished  to  have  his  interview  over  and  done 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  .          135 

with,  'fhe  men  of  his  troop  were  already 
leading  out  as  he  came  in  sight  of  the  long 
row  of  yellow-washed  rookeries  that  passed 
for  stables,  and  it  annoyed  him  to  be  hailed  on 
the  way,  one  after  another,  by  these  two  ad- 
mirers of  so  much  that  he  couldn't  admire  at 
all.  Then,  as  luck  would  have  it,  the  lieuten- 
ant-colonel was  the  next  to  accost  him  and  to 
remark  that  he  was  five  minutes  late,  which 
wasn't  so,  but  couldn't  be  contradicted,  and 
Grafton  was  gritting  his  teeth  when  he  reached 
his  troop.  He  was  in  no  mood  to  talk  diplo- 
matically with  Merriam  just  then,  and  knew 
it,  and  was  thankful  that  the  lieutenant  was 
still  another  stable  beyond,  when  who  should 
appear,  walking  rapidly  back  from  the  bank 
where  the  horses  were  watering,  than  Merriam 
himself.  Seeing  inquiry  in  the  captain's  eye, 
he  stepped  quickly  toward  him. 

"  My  wife  isn't  feeling  at  all  well,"  he  ex- 
plained, "and  I'm  excused  in  order  to  return 
to  her." 

"Nothing  serious,  I  hope,"  said  Grafton, 
There,  at  least,  was  a  woman  he  approved  of. 

"  Nothing  thai  I  can  understand,  or  the  doc- 


AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

tor  either,"  said  Randy,  anxiously.  "She 
hasn't  been  like  herself  for  several  days,  and 
gets  worse  instead  of  better.  I  don't  like  to 
be  away  from  her,  although  Mrs.  Hayne  is 
there  a  great  deal,  bless  her!" 

"I'm  sorry — I'm  doubly  sorry,  Merriam,' 
said  Graf  ton,  uncomfortably,  "  for  I  was  on 
the  point  of  asking  you  to  come  over  and  see 
Mrs.  McLane  about  a  matter  which  is  giving 
her  deep  anxiety." 

Merriam 's  face  began  to  darken  at  once,  but 
he  said  no  word. 

"  Randy ,  continued  Graf  ton,  after  a  mo- 
ment's embarrassed  pause,  "  I  know  it's  ask- 
ing a  great  deal  more  than  I  should  care  to  do 
were  I  in  your  place,  and  I  wouldn't  ask  it  if  I 
didn't  think  it  might  do  good  for  all  and  do 
harm  to  none.  You  heard  of  her  sudden  pros- 
tration the  other  night?" 

"Yes— but -" 

"  Do  you  know — have  you  any  idea  of  the 
cause?" 

''Not  the   faintest — No!    I  can't  say  that 
She  got  a  telegram,  I  heard." 

"  She  did,  and  an  answer  was  demanded  and 


ARMY   WIFE.  137 

I  had  to  read  it  and  reply  that  she  wa  j'ros« 
trated  and  couldn't  answer  herself,  perhaps  for 
days.  I  have  no  right  to  tell  you  what  was  in 
the  message,  but  she  seems  to  need  to  see  you. 
She  says  to-morrow — I  say  to-night." 

For  a  'moment  no  answer  came.  At  last, 
with  evident  effort,  Merriam  spoke. 

"I  had  promised  myself  never  to  see  her 
alone.  It  is  due  to  my  wife,  if  not  to  me. 
You  know  the  relations  that  existed.  Now 
Mrs.  Merriam  does  not — like  your  guest.*' 

"Neither  do  I,"  interrupted  Graf  ton  stoutly, 
44  and  I've  an  idea  she'll  go  after  she's  got 
what — information  you  can  give  her." 

And  now  Merriam 's  face  began  to  lose  its 
dark  look  and  to  grow  suddenly  pale.  "  Do 
you  mean  that  this  telegram  has  made — has 
anything  to  do  with  her  wish  to  see  me?" 

"  Everything,  Merriam,  according  to  my  be- 
lief, and  if  I  could  tell  you  what  it  said  I  think 
you  would  not  refuse  her." 

Intently  Merriam  eyed  the  captain's  face  as 
though  burning  with  eagerness  to  read  his  full 
meaning. 

"Very  well,  I  will  come  right  after  retreat. 


138  AN"  ARMY  WIFE. 

Surely  five  minutes  ought  to  be  enough,'*  he 
said  at  length,  and  then  went  thoughtfully 
homeward. 

But  retreat  parade  came  within  so  short  a 
time  after  Graf  ton  *s  return  to  his  quarters  that 
his  message  to  Mrs.  McLane  covered  that  lady 
with  consternation.  What!  Meet  Randy  Mer- 
riam  when  she  had  less  than  thirty  minutes  in 
which  to  dress!  It  couldn't  be  thought  of! 
When  Merriam  called,  Mrs.  Grafton  fluttered 
down,  with  flushing  cheeks  and  indignant 
eyes.  "I'm  so  sorry,  Mr.  Merriam,  but  really 
Mrs.  McLane  says  she  is  so  far  from  well  again 
this  evening  that  she  cannot  see  any  one.  She 
has  gone  back  to  bed,  but  begs  that  you  will 
come  in  at  noon  to-morrow.  How  is  dear 
Florence?  I  should  have  been  to  see  her,  but 
I  am  tied  hands  and  feet." 

And  Randy  went  angering  back  to  Floy's 
mutely  inquiring  eyes.  "What  can  I  do  to 
cheer  you  to-night,  my  darling?"  he  whis- 
pered, as  he  bent  over  to  kiss  her.  "  Is  Mrs, 
Hayne  coming  back?" 

Florence  was  lying  on  the  sofa  in  her  pretty" 
room  aloft,  and  Merriam  knelt  at  her  side,  tak« 


V*'. 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  139 

ing  her  passive  hand  in  his  and  stroking  gently 

the  curls  that  shimmered  about  her  white  tern- 

mL 

pies.  The  smile  with  which  she  greeted  him 
was  very  wan  and  flitting. 

"She  said  she  would,  after  a  little.  I  told 
her  you'd  be  in  right  after  parade,  but — "  and 
the  "but"  had  a  mournful  tone  to  it. 

"  I  had  to  stop  a  moment  on  the  way,  dear. 
A  matter  I  promised  to  attend  to,"  and  again 
he  bent  and  laid  his  lips  upon  her  brow,  then 
pressed  them  to  hers.  Time  was,  and  only  a 
few  days  gone  by,  when  she  used  to  meet  that 
fond  caress  with  a  kiss  as  fond,  as  lingering 
as  his  own.  Now  she  lay  there  patient,  un- 
responsive. Something  prompted  him  to  pass 
his  arm  underneath  her  neck  and  to  draw  her 
head  to  his  breast,  and  she  let  herself  go,  un- 
resisting, but  her  cheek  did  not  nestle  happily, 
confidently,  as  was  its  way.  Her  big,  pathetic 
eyes  were  downcast,  even  averted. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  some  way  to  gladden  your 
a  bit,  my  Brownie,"  he  murmured,  using  for 
almost  the  first  time  her  father's  own  fond 
pet  name  for  her,  and  he  was  startled  be- 
yond measure  at  the  result.  One  instant  her 


140  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

face  lighted  as  with  sudden,  radiant  joy,  then 
quivered  all  over  with  pent-up  emotion.  Then 
the  pretty  mouth  began  to  twitch  and  the  lips 
to  tremble,  and  then  despite  every  effort  she 
turned  back  to  her  pillow  and  burst  into  a  pas- 
sion of  tears,  great  sobs  shaking  her  slender 
frame  from  head  to  foot. 

"Florence!  Florence!"  he  cried,  in  utter 
dismay  and  trouble.  "  What  is  it,  sweetheart? 
What  is  it,  my  pet,  my  precious?  Ah,  don't 
turn  from  me  like  that.  You  are  not  well,  my 
own,  or  you  would  not  break  my  heart  by 
shrinking  from  me.  What  can  I  have  said  to 
so  distress  you?'*  And  now  he  wouM  take  no 
denial,  but  had  clasped  his  arms  about  her  and 
drawn  her  to  his  breast  again,  and  began  kiss- 
ing away  her  tears  and  striving  to  check  her 
sobbing.  It  was  useless. 

"Oh,  let  me  cry — let  me  cry!*'  she  pleaded, 
"It's— it's  what  I  need." 

And  so  in  pain  and  bewilderment  he  yielded 
to  her  wish  and  strove  to  content  himself  with 
murmuring  soft,  soothing  words  and  holding 
her  close  to  his  heart,  and  at  last  the  storm  of 
tears  seemed  drifting  away  and  she  could 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  141 

speak  in  answer  to  his  pleading,  and  presently 
she  looked  one  instant  into  his  eyes  and  began : 

"  Do  you  think — could  we — go  back  to  the — 
cantonment  for — just  a  little  while?" 

"  Wh}',  Floy,  darling,  we've  only  just  come 
from  there." 

"  I  know.  And  yet — and  yet — oh,  it  seems 
months — years  since — since  then!"  And  now 
the  sobs  again  became  uncontrollable,  and  in 
dread  and  distress  he  sprang  up  to  call  the 
servant  and  bid  him  go  for  Mrs.  Hayne  and 
the  doctor.  Florence  protested,  even  implored, 
but  to  no  purpose.  The  message  was  sent, 
and  before  many  minutes  both  were  there. 

The  medico  looked  perturbed  when  he  came 
down-stairs;  talked  about  low  nervous  condi- 
tion; said  that  air,  sunshine,  cheerful  compan- 
ionship were  what  she  really  needed,  etc.,  etc. 
She'd  been  housing  herself  too  much  of  late. 
He  would  send  over  some  sedatives  from  the 
hospital ;  and  then  he  bustled  out,  and  was  glad 
to  get  away.  Then  came  an  orderly  with  the 
colonel's  compliments,  and  would  Mr.  Mer- 
riam  step  over  to  the  office  a  minute;  and, 
glancing  out  across  the  parade,  Randy  was 


•4-*  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

surprised  to  see  that  bright  lights  were  shining 
from  the  windows  at  headquarters  and  there 
were  signs  of  unusual  life  and  stir  about  the 
infantry  barracks.  Quickly  he  mounted  the 
stairs  and  again  knelt  by  the  side  of  his  young 
wife.  She  was  quieter  now,  but  evidently 
weak  from  the  violence  of  her  emotion,  if  from 
no  other  cause.  Smiling  sympathetically, 
Mrs.  Hayne  arose  from  her  place  near  the  head 
of  the  sofa  that  he  might  come  closer  and  fold 
Florence  in  his  arms,  as  she  felt  sure  Florence 
wished  to  be  folded,  and  Randy  did  come 
nearer  and  took  the  slender  hand  in  his  and 
spoke  tenderly  and  fondly,  and  bent  again  and 
kissed  the  pale  forehead,  lingeringly,  and  all 
this  Florence  seemed  to  accept  without  other 
notice  than  silence  and  submission.  Mrs. 
Hayne  gazed  with  swiftly  changeful  expres- 
sion. This  was  something  utterly  new,  utterly 
unlocked  for.  What  could  have  occurred  to 
turn  Florence  Merriam,  fondest,  happiest  of 
wives,  into  this  limp,  unresponsive  creature? 
Surely  it  could  not  be  that  there  lingered  one 
remaining  doubt  of  Randy  now.  He  had 
ignored  so  utterly,  so  successfully,  the  wiles  of 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  143 

the  coquette  to  whom  he  owed  allegiance  a 
year  gone  by.  She  heard  him  murmur,  "I'll 
be  back  very  soon,  dearest,"  saw  the  sudden 
upward  sweep  of  the  white  eyelids  and  the 
miserable,  questioning  look  in  the  dark  brown 
eyes.  "  The  colonel  has  sent  for  me  to  attend 
him  at  the  office,"  he  explained,  and  the  eye- 
lids drooped  again.  Then  he  pressed  his  lips 
to  hers  and  they  answered  not  at  all.  Then 
he  rose,  and  with  deep  concern  in  his  manly 
face  turned  to  go.  "  It  is  so  good  of  you  to 
come  to  us,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Hayne.  "I 
should  be  at  a  loss  without  you.  I'll  hurry 
back." 

But  his  last  look  as  he  left  the  room  was  for 
Florence,  whose  eyes  followed  him  only  until 
his  turned  again  to  her.  Then  they  drooped 
again. 

"Floy,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Hayne,  after  a  mo- 
ment of  thought,  "I'm  going  to  ask  you. some- 
thing." 

The  girl  held  up  her  white  hand,  and,  as 
though  listening,  said  "Wait." 

They  heard  Randy  in  the  hall  below,  as  he 
threw  his  cape  over  his  shoulders  and  hastened 


144  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

out,  heard  him  go  bounding  down  the  steps, 
out  through  the  gateway,  and  then  across  the 
hard  gravel  of  the  road.  Then  as  his  footfalls 
died  away,  Mrs.  Hayne  knelt  where  he  had 
knelt  the  moment  before. 

"Floy,  dear,  it  isn't  possible  you  think  he 
still  cherishes  any  feeling  except  of  pity  or 
contempt  for — that  woman?  I  never  saw  any- 
thing more  perfect  than  his  devotion  to  you — 
his  avoidance  of  her." 

For  answer,  with  sudden  force  the  young 
wife  seemed  to  tear  herself  from  the  touch  of 
the  friendly  hand,  the  sound  of  the  gentle 
voice,  and,  burying  her  face  in  her  arms,  turn- 
ing her  back  upon  her  consoler,  moaned  aloud. 
"Oh,  Floy,  Floy,  my  little  friend!  You  must 
not  doubt  him.  Never  distrust  him  again. 
Why !  he  will  not  even  go  near  her.  He  will 
not  see  her — speak  with  her,  and  I  never  heard 
such  love  and  tenderness  in  his  voice  as  when 
he  speaks  to  you." 

Then,  as  though  stung,  Florence  whirled 
upon  her,  and  with  dilated,  burning  eyes,  and 
a  hot  flush  overspreading  her  face,  with  lips 
close  set  as  though  to  beat  down  the  tremors 


AN  ARMY   W1FB..  145 

that  strove  for  the   mastery,   answered  with 

startling  vehemence : 

"But  /have — it's  when  he  calls  to  her—- 
talks to  her  in  his  sleep!" 

Then  Mrs.  Hayne  sprang  up,  aghast.  One 
moment  she  stood  gazing  incredulously  down 
at  Florence,  a  world  of  sorrow  and  pity  in  her 
eyes.  Then,  with  her  hand  to  her  ear,  cried 
"Hark!"  and  hastened  to  the  window. 

Far  out  across  the  still,  starlit  level  of  the 
parade  a  trumpeter  was  sounding  officers'  rail 
10 


CHAPTER  X, 

THAT  night  the  Riflers,  seven  companiea 
were  whirled  away  by  special  train  to  the 
rescue  of  the  railway  shops  and  roundhouses 
at  Cimmaron  Springs,  a  hundred  miles  to  the 
north.  One  of  those  unaccountable  manias 
that  prompt  men  to  appropriate  other  people's 
property  had  seized  upon  the  employees  of  the 
road.  The  Valley  Division  had  been  forced  to 
abandon  all  trains,  and  it  was  only  a  question 
of  time,  said  the  ringleaders,  when  the  Moun- 
tain Division  would  follow  suit.  Passenger 
and  cattle,  fruit  and  freight  trains  were  block- 
aded. The  mails,  sent  through  at  first  with  a 
single  car,  were  presently  belated,  then  blocked 
entirely,  and  Uncle  Sam,  who  had  been  show- 
ing his  teeth  for  twenty-four  hours,  now  showed 
his  hand.  In  the  old  days  of  Sedgwick  it  was 
the  cavalry  that  was  perpetually  being  bustled 
off  on  the  warpath,  leaving  the  infantry  to  hold 

the  fort,  but  of  late  the  Indians  had  kept  the 

146 


147 

peace  and  the  cavalry  the  post.  Then  came 
the  srf^Jen  outbreak  of  trouble  on  an  Eastern 
road,  the  swift  assurance  of  sympathy  from 
brethren  in  the  West,  and  then  a  strike  that 
speedily  established  the  fact  that  there  were 
still  savages  in  the  valley  of  the  Bravo,  for 
men  who  tried  to  stand  to  their  duty  were 
kicked  and  battered  into  pulp,  and  helpless 
women  and  children  were  burned  out  of  house 
and  home. 

The  colonel  was  in  no  wise  eager  to  go  on 
any  such  mission.  He  kept  at  the  metaphorical 
front,  but  the  actual  rear,  of  his  men,  secure 
in  the  precaution  that  cool-headed  Captain 
Hayne  was  forward  on  the  pilot  of  the  en- 
gine. If  the  trestle  work  were  sawed  away  or 
bridges  burned  at  inconvenient  points,  Hayne 
would  not  be  apt  to  let  the  train  stumble  into 
the  pitfall.  It  was  nearly  dawn  before  the 
special  reached  Santa  F6  Junction,  but  the 
Riflers  marched  thither  soon  after  midnight, 
leaving  many  weeping  wives  at  home.  They 
bad  not  the  stoicism  of  those  women  long 
schooled  in  such  calamities — the  ladies  of  the 

amity. 


T48  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

Buxton  succeeded  to  the  command  of  the 
post  and  its  garrison,  now  made  up  of  one  big 
squadron  of  the  — th,  four  troops,  and  Cap- 
tain Blinker's  battery  of  mounted  artillery, 
and  what  fairly  pestered  Buxton  was  why  the 
colonel  should  have  sent  for  Mr.  Merriam 
within  ten  minutes  after  the  dispatches  began 
coming  in  just  after  retreat,  and  Merriam 
wouldn't  tell. 

The  first  dispatch  was  from  department 
headquarters,  and  bade  the  colonel  hold  his 
entire  regiment  ready  for  instant  duty  and  a 
journey  by  rail.  Bux  was  with  him  when  it 
came,  and  together  they  had  gone  to  the  office. 
Then  was  handed  in  another,  which  the  colonel 
read  but  did  not  pass  over  to  his  second  in 
command.  On  the  contrary  he  thought  a  bit 
and  sent  for  Mr.  Merriam,  and  took  him  to  one 
side  and  had  a  conversation  with  him  of  five 
minutes'  duration  that  was  inaudible  to  every- 
body else.  Bux  did  catch  a  word  or  two,  but 
could  make  of  it  nothing  that  did  not  stimulate 
his  curiosity.  "Killed,"  "Mescalero  Moun- 
tains," "written  statement" — "McLane — only 
twenty  -three,"  were  some  of  them,  and  when 


AJV  ARMY    triF£.  M9 

he  took  the  commanding  officer's  desk  the  next 
day,  he  ransacked  it  to  find  that  dispatch,  sup- 
posing it  to  be  something  official.  It  was  only 
semi-official,  said  the  operator.  It  came  from 
department  headquarters,  but  was  addressed 
to  the  colonel  personally,  not  in  his  capacity  as 
post-commander,  consequently  it  was  not  filed, 
and  Bux  couldn't  find  it. 

The  guard  had  to  be  reduced,  and  Buxton 
gave  orders  accordingly — a  sergeant,  three 
corporals,  twelve  sentries  for  four  posts,  and 
the  inevitable  and  indispensable  orderly  for 
the  commanding  officer  being  all  now  author- 
ized, since  both  battery  and  troop  commanders 
had  to  keep  up  their  stable  guards.  But  Bux- 
ton insisted  on  a  lieutenant  as  officer  of  the 
guard,  and,  as  luck  would  have  it,  the  man 
directed  to  relieve  the  infantry  sub  starting  off 
with  his  regiment  was  Randolph  Merriam. 

He  had  hastened  home  to  let  Florence  know 
it  was  the  Riflers,  not  the  cavalry,  that  were 
summoned  this  time,  and  instead  of  finding 
her  somewhat  tranquillized  was  distressed  to 
see  traces  of  continued,  if  not  greater, agitation, 
Mrs.  Hayne,  of  course,  had  been  hurried  hornet 


AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

Florence  had  left  the  sofa  and  was  nervously 
pacing  the  little  room.  He  heard  her  rapid 
footsteps  as  he  let  himself  in  at  the  door  below, 
but  as  he  bounded  up  the  stairs  she  hurried  to 
the  window  and  stood  leaning  against  the  sash, 
her  back  toward  him  as  he  entered. 

Closing  the  door  and  hastening  to  her,  Mer- 
riam  took  her  in  his  arms  and  turned  her  face 
to  his.  It  was  hot  and  flushed.  The  eyes  were 
still  red  with  weeping,  the  lids  swollen  and 
disfigured. 

"Why,  Florence,  dear,"  he  began,  in  tones 
of  mingled  reproof  and  distress,  "what  can 
have  happened  to  so  disturb  you?  We  do  not 
go.  It  is  only  the  Riflers  this  time." 

For  one  moment  there  was  silence,  then  a, 
sudden  outburst: 

"  I  wish  we  did  go.  I  wish  to  heaven  I  had 
never  again  seen  this  hateful,  hateful  post — or 
else  that  she  had  not. " 

"She!  Florence?     Who?" 

"The  woman  you  went  to  see  when  I  was 
out  of  the  way  after  parade  this  evening — and 
dare  not  tell  me." 

"Florence!     Florence!'  he  cried,  in  utter 


AN  ARMY  WIFB.  151 

amaze  and  distress.  "Listen  to  me,  dear,"  he 
pleaded,  for  she  was  struggling  to  release  her- 
self—"listen  to  me,  child." 

"Child? — I  am  no  child!  I  was  one,  per- 
haps, when  you  came  into  my  life — when  I 
married  you.  But  not  now — not  now,  Randy 
— I'm  a  woman  with  a  burning,  bleeding  heart. 
Why  should  you  go  there?  Why  should  you 
hide  it  from  me?" 

"You  were  ill  and  wretched.  I  knew  you 
could  not  bear  her.  Grafton  asked  me  to  come 
on  a  matter  entirely  of  business." 

"  Oh !  what  business  have  you  to  have  busi- 
ness of  any  kind  with  her — now?" 

"  I  do  not  yet  know,  Florence,"  he  answered, 
slowly  releasing  her,  and  his  tone  changing  to 
one  in  which  pain  and  reproach  were  mingling 
now.  "  I  have  not  seen  her ;  indeed  she  refused 
to  see  me." 

"You  said  Captain  Grafton  urged  you  to 
come,  What  right  had  he  if  she  didn't  mean 
to  see  you?" 

"That  remains  to  be  explained,  Florence. 
I  have  had  no  time  to  inquire.  Indeed,  I  have 
not  felt  sufficient  interest.  Mrs.  Grafton  said 


15*  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

the  lady  had  declined  to  see  anybody,  and  had 
gone  back  to  bed,  prostrated  again,  possibly. 
I  was  most  anxious  to  come  to  you,  my  wife, 
little  dreaming  what  welcome  was  in  store  for 
me.  Florence,  dear,  is  it  possible — is  it  credi- 
ble that  you  have  let  that  poor  woman  come  as 
a  torment  into  your  life  and  make  you  so  un- 
just to  me?  O  my  little  soldier  girl,  is  this 
just  to  either  of  us?'* 

"Tell  me  this!"  she  demanded,  suddenly 
facing  him  and  looking  into  his  troubled  eyes. 
"  Is  there  any  business — can  there  be  any  rea- 
son why  she  should  wish  to  see  you — alone?" 

Merriam  hesitated.  " Florence,"  he  began, 
"there  are  matters  sometimes  made  known  to 
a  man  that  he  must  divulge  to  no  one.  I  do 
not  know  what  she  desires  of  me,  but  I  believe 
it  is  her  wish  to  learn  all  I  know  about  that 
poor  fellow  who  was  killed  up  the  Mescalero 
last  June — nothing  else." 

"And  needs  a  private  interview  with   her 
rejected   lover   for  that   purpose!"    she  inter 
rupted,  her   eyes   flashing  anew.     The    child 
was   indeed   a   woman.     "Oh,"  I  hate  her!     I 
hate  her!"  she  cried,  throwing  herself  passion- 


Can.  Me"t  ,V    '*ty  reason  why  she  should  wish  to  see  you — alone  ?  " 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  45$ 

ately  upon  the  sola,  and  then  Merriam  cried 
"Hush!"  for  some  one  was  knocking  at  the 
door. 

It  was  the  servant,  their  oblique-eyed  China- 
man, with  a  note.  "My  knockee  tlee  times,"* 
he  grinned.  "All  time  talkee— talkee ,  no 
listen." 

It  was  a  brief  summons  to  relieve  Lieutenant 
Henry  m  command  of  the  guard,  at  once. 
Henry  had  to  go  with  his  reginient. 

"Mrs.  Hayne  is  coming  back,  is  she  not?" 
he  queried  of  Florence,  but  had  to  repeat  the 
query  twice.  She  only  shook  her  head. 

He  waited  a  moment.  "  Listen,  Florence, 
dear,"  he  presently  said,  as  he  bent  compas- 
sionately over  her.  "  I  am  ordered  on  guard  at 
once,  and  must  go  to  relieve  Henry.  Even 
though  I  cannot  tell  you  what  Mrs.  McLane 
wishes  to  sse  me  about,  this  I  will  tell  you, 
dear.  If  I  must  see  her,  you  shall  know  it 
first— from  me,  and  not  hear  of  it  through 
some  meddling  gossip." 

He  was  wondering  as  he  walked  away  who 
could  have  told  his  wife  he  had  called  at  Graf- 
ton's  and  asked  (or  Mrs,  MeLaac.  He  was  too 


154 

proud  to  inquire.  He  had  kissed  her  gently, 
forgivingly,  as  he  said  to  himself,  before  com- 
ing away,  and  promised  that  he  would  be  with 
her  again  if  only  for  a  few  minutes  before  the 
signal  for  lights  out.  He  found  Henry  swear» 
ing  with  impatience,  as  the  youngster  had  a 
"  raft"  of  preparations  to  make,  and  it  was  very 
late,  nearly  eleven  o'clock,  before  he  had  re-es- 
tablished the  sentry  posts  as  ordered  by  the 
new  officer  of  the  day.  The  trumpets  sounded 
"  taps"  to  heedless  ears,  and  the  lights  burned 
brightly  in  all  the  barracks,  and  the  troopers 
who  were  not  to  go  were  chaffing  the  "  dough- 
boys" who  were,  and  so  mixing  up  not  a  little 
in  the  work  of  preparation.  He  had  seen 
Hayne  a  moment  and  had  been  told  that  Mrs. 
Hayne  would  run  back  to  Florence  again  as 
soon  as  she  had  seen  to  the  packing  of  his  mess- 
chest  and  field-kit.  The  children  were  to  be 
allowed  to  sit  up  and  see  the  regiment  off. 
Merriam  supposed  when  taps  came  that  by  this 
time  Mrs.  Hayne  was  with  Florence,  but  all 
the  same  he  left  the  guard  in  charge  of  the 
sergeant  a  few  minutes  and  hurried  away  over 
the  parade  and  up  to  her  room,  and  there  he 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  iS5 

found  her  lying  almost  as  he  had  left  her 
—  face  downward  upon  the  sofa,  and  all 
alone. 

Throwing  aside  his  belt  and  sabre,  Randy 
knelt  by  her  side  and  strove  gently  to  turn  her 
toward  him. 

"  Have  you  no  welcome  for  me  even  now, 
my  little  girl?"  he  murmured.  "  Do  you  real- 
ize this  is  the  first  trouble  that  has  ever  come 
between  us,  and  that  I'm  being  very,  very 
much  abused  for  something  that  is  no  fault  of 
mine?"  His  tone  and  manner  were  almost 
playful,  despite  a  certain  soreness  at  heart  he 
could  not  quite  ignore,  but  Floy  resisted  and 
was  silent.  "I  have  only  a  moment  or  two, 
my  wife,"  he  presently  continued,  gravely  and 
sadly.  "You  are  soldier  enough  to  know  I 
should  not  be  away  from  my  guard  even  now, 
but  my  heart  yearned  over  you,  Florence,  in 
your  illness  and  distress,  and  I  had  to  steal  a 
moment.  Won't  you  come  into  my  arms  a 
little  while,  and  let  me  kiss  away  the  traces  of 
those  foolish  tears?" 

Ah,  who  knows  how  much  her  heart,  too, 
may  have  been  pleading  with  his  pleading 


156 

voice  at  the  moment,  yet  the  devil  of  her 
jealous  love  kept  rigid  guard  between  them. 

M I  shall  do  very  well,"  she  answered,  coldly. 
"  Mrs.  Hayne  was  here  and  I  told  her  not  to 
stay" — pause— then,  "neither  need  you." 

At  first  he  could  not  believe  his  senses. 
The  wild  outburst  of  a  few  hours  before  was 
something  easily  accounted  for  in  one  so  young 
and  passionate,  but  this  cold,  repellant,  re- 
morseless refusal,  this  practical  dismissal  of 
his  proffer  of  love,  comfort,  and  caresses,  this 
was  something  utterly  unlike  Florence.  It 
not  only  amazed,  it  stung  him,  and  rising 
slowly  to  his  feet  he  stood  one  moment  look- 
ing down  at  her  in  deep  bewilderment,  and 
with  no  little  effort  curbing  his  tongue  and 
temper.  The  pretty  wrapper  she  wore  had 
become  disarranged,  and  the  one  slender, 
slippered  foot  that  projected  from  beneath  its 
shelter  was  tapping  nervously  the  foot  of  the 
sofa.  Stifling  a  sigh,  he  looked  about  him, 
took  from  a  neighboring  chair  a  heavy  shawl 
she  had  been  using  earlier  in  the  day,  and, 
carefully  spreading  it  over  her  so  as  to  cover 
even  the  rebellions  foot,  he  quietly  picked  up 


AN  AAMY   Wim.  157 

bis  sabre  and  as  quietly  walked  to  the  door. 
There,  turning  about,  he  looked  back  at  hen 
Without  changing  her  position,  she  had  calmly 
stripped  off  the  shawl  with  her  right  hand  and 
dropped  it  to  the  floor.  The  slippered  foot 
was  still  beating  its  nervous,  irreconcilable 
tattoo  as  he  slowly  descended  the  stairs. 

She  heard  him  let  himself  out  into  the  night 
and  the  clank  of  the  scabbard  against  the  gate- 
post and  the  tramp  of  his  cavalry  boot  as  he 
crossed  the  road.  He  walked  slowly,  heavily 
now,  not  eagerly  as  he  came.  Florence  heard 
and  noted,  and  then  her  pride  and  resolution 
gave  away,  and  again  she  wept  bitter,  bitter, 
yet  not  wholly  penitent  tears. 

The  waning  moon  was  shining  over  the  dim, 
far-stretching  desert  to  the  east,  and  a  little 
torchlight  procession  was  forming  at  the  band 
barracks,  as  Merriam  recrossed  the  parade. 
Each  musician  wore  attached  to  his  headgear 
a  bright  little  lamp,  its  reflector  so  arranged  as 
to  throw  the  light  full  upon  the  sheet  of  music 
in  the  rack  of  his  instrument.  It  was  nearly 
time  to  form  the  regiment,  and  though  the 
band  was  not  to  go,  it  meant  to  "  play  the  boys  on 


i S8  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

to  the  cars,"  as  the  sergeant  said.  Whittaker, 
longing  for  excitement  of  some  kind,  had  gone 
to  Buxton  and  begged  permission  to  turn  out 
his  troop,  mounted,  and  escort  the  Riflers  to 
the  railway,  and  Bux  said  "  no"  with  cheerful 
and  customary  alacrity.  All  the  same  all  the 
post  was  up  and  mostly  out  of  doors,  thronging 
about  the  edge  of  the  parade,  when  adjutant's 
call  sounded  and  the  two  battalions  came 
swinging  out  in  full  marching  order — "cam- 
paign hats,  blankets  rolled,  great-coats  folded, 
haversacks,  canteens,  and  crammed  cartridge 
belts."  There  was  but  brief  ceremony.  The 
colonel  whipped  out  his  sword  and  gave  "  Col- 
umn of  fours,"  the  rifles  of  the  first  company 
leaned  to  the  right  shoulder,  the  band  burst 
forth  into  its  liveliest  strain,  and,  taking  the 
lead,  the  baton-beating  drum-major  at  its  head, 
away  they  tramped  for  the  southeast  gate,  and 
all  Fort  Sedgwick  seemed  to  follow.  The 
colonel  spurred  his  way  and  jolted  out  in  front 
of  the  band,  his  adjutant  at  his  heels.  The 
cadenced  step  and  spirited  music  were  kept 
up  until  the  hospital  corps  at  the  rear  of  column 
was  clear  to  the  gate,  then  route  step  was 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  159 

ordered,  and  then  by  twos  and  threes  and  little 
squads  and  parties  the  throng  of  escorts  came 
drifting  back,  by  far  the  larger  portion  veering 
off  to  the  right  and  taking  the  pathway  toward 
the  barracks,  while  a  long  string  of  women  and 
children,  with  a  few  attendant  officials,  kept 
the  direct  road,  nearly  westward,  that  ran  in 
front  of  the  main  line  of  officers'  quarters. 
Over  at  the  guard-house  the  little  handful  of 
armed  soldiers  had  stood  watching  from  afar 
the  formation  and  departure  of  the  regiment, 
and  now,  spreading  their  blankets,  were  settling 
themselves  for- a  brief  nap  before  relieving  the 
sentries  now  slowly  tramping  their  posts,  and 
Merriam,  after  one  long  look  at  the  distant 
row,  vainly  seeking  for  the  bright  light  that 
used  to  burn  in  her  parlor  window  on  previous 
nights  when  he  was  on  guard,  turned  into  the 
office  of  the  guard-house  with  a  heavy  heart 
and  a  weary  sigh,  and  sat  himself  down  to  look 
over  the  list  of  prisoners  and  the  half-finished 
report. 

The  midnight  call  of  the  sentries  had  started 
as  the  Riflers  marched  away,  but,  between  the 
music  and  the  cheers,  seemed  to  get  no  further 


160  AX  A.KMY 

than  the  post  of  No.  2 ,  and  Corporal  Mahoney 
had  gone  to  see  if  3  and  4  were  all  right. 
Silence  was  gradually  settling  down  upon  the 
moonlit  garrison,  although  voices  of  women 
and  children  came  floating  faintly  across  the 
dim  parade,  and  out  under  the  spectral  white 
flag-staff  tiny  sparks  as  of  cigars  could  be  seen, 
and  low,  gruff  voices  were  heard  in  consulta- 
tion. A  moment  or  two  more  and  the  sentry 
on  No.  I  was  bidden  to  call  off  half-past  twelve, 
and  barely  had  he  done  so,  and  Merriam  was 
straining  his  ears  for  the  answering  cry  of  the 
outlying  posts,  than  a  second  time  the  sentry 
let  loose  his  voice  and  challenged  sharply, 
"Who  comes  there?" 

"Commanding  officer  and  friends,"  was  the 
answer  in  Buxton's  growl. 

"  Halt !  Corpril  the  Guard — commanding 
officer  and  friends,"  answered  No.  ?,  and  Mer- 
riam sprang  to  his  feet,  while  the  corporal  went 
bounding  out  to  examine  and  receive  the  party. 

"  I  want  the  officer  of  the  guard,"  said  Bux- 
ton,  impatient  of  etiquette  or  formality  as  he 
bulged  ahead.  "Oh,  Mr.  Merriam,  there  must 
be  at  least  a  hundred  of  our  men  gone  tagging 


Damn  those  infernal  idiots  I " 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  l6l 

along  with  the  'doughboys'  in  hopes  of  a  round 
of  drinks  at  the  Junction,  probably.  I  want  a 
mounted  patrol  to  go  in  at  once  and  herd  'em 
all  back,  otherwise  some  of  them  will  be  car- 
ried away  on  the  train,  sure  as  shooting.  Just 
give  your  stable  sentry  orders  to  let  a  dozen 
horses  out.  I'll  send  Mr.  Whittaker  in  com- 
mand; he  wanted  to  turn  out  and  go  as  escort. 
Lots  of  your  men  are  in  there,  I  suppose,  Cap- 
tain Graf  ton,"  he  concluded,  as  he  turned  to 
the  silent  officer  at  his  side. 

"Half  a  dozen,  possibly,  sir,  though  I  doubt 
it.  Do  you  wish  horses  and  men  from  my 
troop?  If  not,  sir,  I'll  retire." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  do.  I  want  three  men  and  horses 
from  each  troop — good  men,  too.  If  I  send  a 
squad  from  just  one  troop,  those  runagates  will 
be  down  on  just  that  one  company  and  we'll 
be  in  hot  water  for  a  whole  year." 

Grafton  silently  touched  his  cap  and  turned 
away.  Far  off  to  the  southeast  there  was  a 
sound  of  cheering,  and  the  band  had  struck  up 
some  rollicking  quickstep,  whereat  old  Bux 
gritted  his  teeth  and  swore  anew.  "Damn 

those  infernal  idiots!     Do  you  know  what'll 
ii 


l6a  AN  ARMY    WIF&* 

be  the  result  of  this?  The  regiment  will  get 
away  on  the  train,  and  then  that  band  instead 
of  coming  back  will  go  to  Miguel's  saloon,  and 
there  they'll  start  a  baile  and  have  that  whole 
greaser  population  in  there  drinking  mescal 
and  Aguardiente,  and  ripping  and  fighting  until 
everybody's  beastly  drunk.  I  wont  have  it, 
sir!"  and  he  glared  at  the  officer  of  the  guard 
as  though  he  considered  that  silent  official  a 
co-conspirator.  "I  Wont  have  it,  I  say.  I 
wish  Mr.  Whittaker  to  start  at  once  and  round 
up  the,  whole  gang." 

And  with  that  he  strode  portentously  away 
in  the  direction  of  headquarters,  the  orderly 
following  with  a  grin.  Corporal  Mahoney 
came  in  from  his  round,  reporting  3  and  4  all 
right  and  everything  secure. 

"But  there's  one  thing,  sir:  No.  2  can't  begin 
to  see  the  length  of  his  post,  and  with  so  many 
private  horses  in  the  little  stables  back  of  the 
row  what's  to  prevent  them  beggars  from 
town  running  off  half  a  dozen  head?  Once 
across  the  mesa  and  into  the  Santa  Clara  coun- 
try there'd  be  no  catching  them." 

"We  must  take  the  chances,"  said  Merriam, 


ARMY    WIFE.  163 

briefly.      "The  commanding  officer  will  not 

permit  any  increase  of  sentries." 

Yet  the  corporal's  warning  made  him  think 
of  his  own  favorite  saddle-horse  and  Floy's 
pretty  bay.  She  rode  so  well,  so  fearlessly, 
tirelessly,  that  one  of  his  very  first  gifts  to  her 
had  been  this  dainty  little  mare,  swift  and  sure- 
footed as  a  greyhound,  and  about  as  wonderful 
a  jumper,  and  Florence  gloried  in  her  and  in 
the  dashing  rides  they  used  to  take.  They 
didn't  mind  the  lack  of  shaded  bridle-paths. 
They  scoured  the  plain  full  gallop,  riding  reck- 
lessly after  the  bounding  jack-rabbits,  and  com- 
ing  home  all  athrill  and  aglow  with  the  glorious 
exercise.  But  of  late  the  rides  had  beconje 
more  sedate  and  slow  and  less  frequent,  and 
then  when  Mrs.  McLane  proposed  being  of  the 
party  Florence  discovered  Mignon  to  be  sud- 
denly lame,  and  had  a  shoe  removed  and  a 
hoof  poulticed,  and  Randy  smiled  but  said 
nothing.  Mignon  was  surprised,  perhaps,  but 
not  Mr.  Merriam.  He  was  thinking  of  the  un- 
protected condition  of  those  stables  back  of  offi- 
cers' row  where  those  gentlemen  who  owned 
private  stock  were  required  to  keep  theirs, 


x64  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

instead  of,  as  had  been  customary  tinder  a  pre- 
vious administration,  at  the  cavalry  or  quarter- 
master's  corrals.  The  colonel  of  the  Riflers 
had  once  been  knuckle-rapped  for  allowing 
public  forage  to  be  fed  to  private  "  mounts"  of 
some  garrison  ladies,  and  now  he  had  his  eyes 
open.  The  Freemans,  Haynes,  Graftons,  and 
Merriams,  as  well  as  the  doctor,  all  had  private 
horses  for  ladies'  use;  so  did  certain  others; 
and  although  every  mounted  officer  could 
draw  forage  for  two  horses,  not  a  peck  01  oats 
could  he  get  beyond  that,  and  when  it  came  to 
forage  for  ladies'  horses — animals  never  ridden 
or  driven  except  by  ladies,  and  too  light  for 
government  service,  the  colonel  drew  the  line 
at  th'at  entirely,  and  was  sustained  by  a  virtu- 
ous Congress. 

So  Randy  had  to  buy  forage  for  Mignon,  and 
luckily  forage  was  cheap,  with  all  those  ranches 
of  Santa  Clara  close  at  hand.  He  had  often 
thought  how  easy  it  would  be  for  greasers — 
natural  horse-thieves — to  sneak  in  on  that 
southern  front  of  a  dark  night  and  make  off 
with  four  or  five  favorite  horses,  and  the  colonel 
used  to  keep  three  sentries  along  there.  Now 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  l65 

they  had  only  one.  "  All  the  more  reason  lot 
my  keeping  personal  watch  on  that  front," 
thought  Randy,  "and  that  will  give  me  an 
occasional  chance  to  look  in  on  Florence." 

One  o'clock  came,  and  the  call  had  gone 
from  sentry  to  sentry,  thanks  to  the  breathless 
stillness  of  the  air,  and  the  moon  was  climbing 
high,  and  Bux  was  still  up  and  swearing.  A 
"wire"  came  out  from  the  Junction  that  the 
'*  special"  would  not  be  there  for  two  hours,  so 
the  Rifiers  had  stacked  arms,  unslung  packs, 
and  were  snoozing  or  skylarking  as  suited.their 
humor.  The  colonel  had  given  permission  for 
a  dance  at  Miguel'^.  The  band  was  playing, 
and  there  was  jollity  in  the  wind.  Bux  said 
he  wouldn't  have  the  cavalry  mixed  up  in  any 
such  tomfoolery,  however,  and  the  patrol  was 
saddled  and  ready  to  start.  Graf  ton,  coming 
back  from  his  stable,  where  he  had  gone  to 
personally  see  to  the  selection  of  the  mounts 
required,  stopped  and  drew  Merriam  to  one 
side. 

"I'm  sorry  for  the  needless  trouble  you  took 
this  evening,  Merriam.  I  had  hoped  that  Mrs. 
McLane  would  see  you  and  have  done  with  it, 


166  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

Another  dispatch  came  for  her  three  hours  ago, 
and  it  seems  to  have  roused  her  to  action.  She 
was  up  and  dressed  in  time  to  see  the  regiment 
off,  and  now,  I  presume,  she's  flirting  with 
Whittaker.  There  are  lights  in  the  parlor. 
At  all  events  the  orderly  hasn't  found  him, 
and  Bux  may  send  you  after  the  stragglers  in 
town." 

"Then  I  reckon  I'll  start  and  make  the 
rounds  and  get  out  of  the  way,"  said  Randy. 
"By  the  way,  captain,  I  hope  your  private 
stable  is  well  secured.  We  have  only  one 
sentry  on  that  whole  front  now,  and  that 
matched  team  of  yours  is  a  powerful  tempta- 
tion to  Bravo  horse-fanciers.  I  mean  to  make 
two  or  three  trips  around  the  row  to-night." 

"Well,  then  I  can  save  you  several  hundred 
yards,  Merriam,"  said  Graf  ton,  fumbling  in  his 
pocket.  "  Take  the  short  cut  through  my  yard. 
There  are  no  private  horses  between  me  and 
the  east  end  of  the  line,  you  know.  Here's 
the  key  to  the  rear  gate." 

Merriam  took  it  and  thanked  him  heartily. 

/'I'll  go  to  the  corrals  first,"  said  he,  "and 
fchen  come  over  your  way,  Good-night*" 


AN  ARMY   WIFE,  167 

The  lights  were  still  burning  dimly  in  the 
parlor  as  Grafton  reached  his  quarters,  but  the 
slender  form  of  a  woman  stood  between  him 
and  the  door.  It  was  Mrs.  McLane,  and  she 
began  at  once. 

"  I  have  been  waiting  anxiously  for  you, 
captain.  Dear  Harriet  has  gone  to  her  room 
tired  out,  and  I  thought  Mr.  Whittaker  would 
never  go — I  fairly  had  to  send  him.  Mr.  Mer- 
riam  is  officer  of  the  guard.  Could  I  see  him— 
could  you  take  me  to  him  for  just  a  min- 
ute? If  I  can  talk  with  him  three  minutes  it 
will  be  ample,  and  I  cannot  rest  now  until 
I  do." 

Grafton  was  on  the  point  of  bidding  her  re- 
member that  she  had  refused  a  chance  of  talk- 
ing with  him  earlier  that  night,  but  refrained. 
He  looked  back  across  the  sallow,  moonlit 
surface  of  the  parade  to  where  the  oil-lamps 
were  burning  blearily  in  the  guard-room.  "  He 
is  not  there,"  said  he.  "  He  has  gone  down  to 
the  corrals.  But — a  happy  thought  striking 
him—"  in  less  than  ten  minutes  he  will  be  com- 
ing through  here  on  his  rounds.  I  gave  him 
the  key  of  our  rear  gate.  It's  warm  and  pleas* 


168  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

ant  out  here.     You  might  hail  and  halt  him  as 
he  enters." 

Meantime  there  had  been  a  sore,  sore  hearted 
young  wife  farther  up  the  row.  As  wrath  and 
passion  sobbed  themselves  away  and  the  devil 
of  jealousy  wore  itself  out,  and  the  thought  of 
Randy's  patience  and  gentleness  and  of  all 
that  Mrs.  Hayne  had  said  of  his  unflagging 
tenderness  and  love,  poor  Florence  began  to 
wonder  if  she  had  not  angered  him  beyond 
repair.  His  last  act  had  been  one  of  fond, 
thoughtful  care.  He  had  spread  the  shawl 
over  her  and  lingered  over  it  as  though  he 
loved  to  touch  her,  mad,  miserable,  ugly,  hate- 
ful as  she  had  been,  and  she  had  spitefully 
thrown  it  off.  She  picked  it  up  now  and  strove 
to  arrange  it  as  he  had  done,  but  could  not. 
She  arose  and  bathed  her  face  and  eyes,  and 
gazed  out  over  the  now  deserted  parade.  She 
bad  not  even  stirred  when  the  Riflers  marched 
away.  She  paced  the  floor  again  and  felt  that 
she  was  weak,  and  became  conscious  that  she 
was  most  unromantically  hungry,  and  then — 
Oh,  heavens!  how  could  she! — how  could  she 
have  forgotten?  Here  was  Randy  on  guard, 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  169 

up  all  night,  and  never  before  since  they  came 
back  from  their  wedding  tour  had  she  failed 
when  he  was  officer  of  the  guard  to  have  a 
delightful  little  chafing-dish  supper  all  ready 
for  him  at  twelve  o'clock,  and  he  used  to  come 
over  from  his  duties  for  half  an  hour  and  eat 
with  such  an  appetite  and  praise  her  welsh 
rarebit,  or  her  oysters,  and  then  take  her  in 
his  arms  with  such  love  and  delight  in  his  fond 
eyes,  and  here — and  here  it  was  one  o'clock 
and  she'd  utterly  forgotten  it.  Oh,  poor  Randy 
must  be  starving! 

In  ten  minutes  Mrs.  Merriam  had  bundled 
up  her  dishevelled  hair,  donned  some  more 
becoming  gown  than  the  tumbled  wrapper,  and 
had  bustled  down-stairs  and  lighted  the  parlor 
lamp  to  signal  Randy  to  come  home  and  be  fed 
and  forgiven,  and  then  she  ransacked  the  cup- 
board and  started  her  fire,  and  then  peeped 
over  toward  the  distant  guard-room  and  saw 
no  sign  of  his  coming.  She  trotted  through 
the  kitchen  and  banged  lustily  at  Hop  Ling's 
door  and  bade  him  rise  and  go  summon  his 
master,  but  the  menial  answered  not.  He, 
too,  had  slipped  away  to  the  Junction — not  so 


170  4f>T  ARMY  WIFE. 

much  to  see  the  Riflers  off  as  to  have  a  shy  at 
fan-tan,  and  Florence  was  alone.  Never  mind. 
She  had  been  born  and  reared  in  garrison. 
No  one  could  teach  her  the  ins  and  outs  of 
post  life.  Why  shouldn't  she  run  across  the 
wide,  dimly  lighted  flat  and  surprise  her  dar- 
ling at  his  desk,  and  bid  him  come  home  with 
her  and  let  her  twine  herself  about  him,  and 
have  a  happier  cry  as  she  told  him  how  weak 
and  wicked  and  cruel  and  hateful  she  had  been, 
and  beg  to  be  taken  back  into  his  love  and 
trust.  Yes,  yes,  well  she  knew  that  he  was  too 
noble,  too  grand  to  treat  her  sternly,  coldly, 
because  of  her  tempestuous  outbreak.  It  was 
all  because  she  loved  him  so — loved  him  so 
that  it  was  torture  to  think  any  other  woman 
could  claim  or  hold  or  even  attract  him.  With 
brightening  eyes,  with  bounding  heart,  she 
threw  over  her  head  and  shoulders  a  light 
wrap  and  stepped  out  on  the  piazza.  Some- 
body was  coming  across  the  parade — from  the 
guard-house — even  now.  He  was  still  too  far 
away  to  be  recognized,  but  as  he  halted  one 
minute  and  turned  as  though  to  listen  to  the 
sentries  just  beginning  to  call  half -past  one* 


AN  ARMY   WtFB.  171 

the  moonlight  glinted  on  the  steel  scabbard, 
and  she  knew  it  must  be  Randy.  Then  he 
was  coming  to  her  after  all,  and  she  need  not 
have  to  seek  him  and  be  the  first  to  "  make  up," 
as  she  used  to  say  in  girlish  days.  The  call 
went  round  with  echoing  ring,  and  then  on 
came  her  lover  husband  again.  How  she 
loved  that  martial  stride  of  his!  How  erect 
and  strong  and  soldierly  he  seemed!  How 
— why — he  wasn't  coming — straight  to  her. 
He  had  reached  the  flagstaff.  There  lay  the 
beaten  pathway  right  before  his  eyes  and  hers. 
He  must  see  *he  bright  lights  of  his  home  bid- 
ding him  come  and  find  love  and  welcome.  But 
he  had  turned  away— was  walking,  not  toward 
the  west  end,  but  straight  for  the  middle  of  the 
row,  straight  to  where  the  Graftons  lived — 
where — that  woman  lived. 

But  that  meant  nothing.  Oh,  no!  Florence 
well  knew  that  meant  nothing.  Had  he  not 
said  only  a  little  while  before  that  never  would 
he  see  or  speak  with  her  without  coming  first 
to  his  wife,  his  Florence,  and  letting  her  know? 
Yet,  why  should  he  go  thither,  at  this  hour  of 
the  night?  That  was  not  the  way  to  the  sentry 


I7»  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

posts.  Unconsciously  she  approached  the  edge 
of  the  piazza — she  saw  him  reach  the  roadway 
— saw  him  cross  it — saw  him — Merciful  God ! 
could  she  believe  her  eyes? — saw  him  enter 
what  must  be  the  Graftons'  gate  and  then  be- 
come lost  in  the  shadows  of  the  row.  Hardly 
knowing  what  she  did,  Florence  sped  madly 
down  the  steps,  out  through  the  gate  and, 
almost  running,  down  eastward  along  the  walk. 
Nearing  the  Graftons',  she  pressed  her  hand  to 
her  heart  to  still  its  mad  pounding,  and  as 
she  came  opposite  the  parlor  window  she  noted 
that  the  lamps  were  burning  dimly,  late  as  it 
was.  Could  he  have  entered?  Breathless, 
dazed,  she  clung  to  the  picket  fence  for  sup- 
port, not  knowing  what  to  do  next,  and  then 
the  blood  seemed  to  turn  to  ice  in  her  veins, 
for  somewhere,  close  at  hand,  just  beyond 
those  sheltering  vines  she  heard  voices,  his 
voice  and  hers,  low-toned,  earnest,  ah !  passion- 
ate— for  she  heard  her  murmur  "  Oh,  Randy, 
Randy!"  and,  stepping  quickly  forward,  saw 
her  just  around  the  corner  of  the  trellis,  appar- 
ently clinging  to  his  arm,  the  two  dim  figures 
seemingly  linked  together,  blending  in  one 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  173 

vague,  indistinguishable,  yet  damning  shape, 
and  then  all  grew  dark  to  her,  as  though  a  pall 
had  been  dropped  from  the  starry  heavens, 
hiding  from  sight  the  sin  and  woe  of  a  reeling 
world. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"MRS.  McLANE,"  Merriam  was  saying  at  the 
moment,  interrupting  the  pleading,  weeping 
woman  who  was  clinging  to  his  arm,  "it  is 
useless  to  talk  of  it.  Had  you  let  me  know 
why  you  wished  to  see  me,  all  the  par  J:L  -his 
meeting  could  have  been  avoir'  _u.  Every 
paper  I  had  was  given  to  Mr.  Parry,  your  law- 
yer, months  ago.  I  know  less  about  the  mat- 
ter, probably,  than  you  do ;  and  now,  forgive 
me,  but  I  must  go  at  once." 

Almost  forcibly  he  drew  her  clasping  hands 
from  his  arm,  and  turning  sharply  and  without 
another  word  to  the  cringing  woman,  hastened 
on  through  the  narrow  pathway  that  led  be- 
tween Graf  ton's  cottage  and  that  to  the  east- 
ward, and  presently  emerged  again  into  the 
moonlight  at  the  back  of  the  house,  going 
straight  to  the  captain's  stable.  For  a  moment 
his  late  companion  stood  there  at  the  tiellis, 
staring  after  him  in  mingled  misery  and  in« 


AN  ARMY    WIFE.  175 

credulity.  She  had  planned  it  well.  She  had 
marked  his  coming  just  as  Grafton  had  said, 
had  hurried  down  to  the  shadowy  aisle  between 
the  quarters  and  halted  him  there — astonished 
at  her  daring.  He  would  have  walked  a  dozen 
miles  that  night  rather  than  see  her  at  all,  but 
to  meet  her  this  way,  to  feel  that  he  was 
trapped,  made  Merriam's  blood  boil  with 
wrath.  His  voice,  though,  was  stern  and  cold 
as  he  bade  her  say  why  she  wished  to  see  him. 
But  her  aim  was  to  detain,  to  soften,  to  charm 
and  then  to  plead,  and  she  had  a  dreadful, 
dreadful  story  to  tell  and  none  to  tell  it  to  but 
him.  Even  then  she  was  balked,  for  Merriam 
bluntly  bade  her  omit  the  story,  as  he  knew  all 
he  needed  to  know,  and  come  to  the  point  at 
once.  What  could  she  want  of  him  ?  Advice 
— sympathy,  she  cried ;  and  for  advice  he  re- 
ferred her  to  her  lawyer — for  sympathy  she 
must  not  come  to  him.  She  must  have  some 
purpose  in  calling  on  him — what  was  it?  And 
then  it  proved  to  be  the  packet  with  certain 
papers,  given  him  by  the  young  miner  in  the 
Mescalero.  "  It  was  turned  over  to  your  law- 
yet  long  ago/1  said  Randy ;  and  then  she  burst 


176  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

into  tears  and  said  she  was  undone,  and  wailed, 
"Oh,  Randy,  Randy!  what  can  I — what  am  I 
to  do?"  And  he  suggested  gravely,  courte- 
ously, but  positively,  that  she  should  at  once 
go  indoors,  while  he  went  on  his  way. 

His  heart  was  bitter  against  her  as  he  strode 
out  beyond  the  fence  line,  and,  after  carefully 
inspecting  the  doors  of  Graf  ton's  stable,  he 
closed  and  locked  the  gate.  He  wished  now 
more  than  ever  to  hurry  on  westward  and  enter 
his  own  little  home  and  surprise  Florence. 
With  grateful  eyes  he  had  noted  the  parlor 
lights  and  interpreted  them  as  indicating  that 
she  must  be  well  over  the  unreasoning  stage  of 
this  her  first,  and,  he  prayed  God,  her  last,  jeal- 
ous trouble.  He  turned  toward  his  own  gate, 
intending  only  to  glance  at  the  other  stables  on 
the  way  and  give  the  sentry  additional  orders; 
but  when  he  got  so  far  toward  the  western  end 
of  the  row  as  to  enable  him  to  distinguish  any 
object  as  big  as  a  man  he  found  to  his  vexa- 
tion that  there  was  no  sentry  there  at  all,  and 
that  he  must  retrace  his  steps  and  look  for  him 
toward  the  other  end.  It  was  a  backward 
tramp  of  over  three  hundred  yards,  and  he  waa 


'*  Come  right  along.' 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  i?7 

irritated  enough  to  feel  like  scoring  the  sentry 
when  finally  he  came  upon  him. 

"You  shouldn't  be  here,  sir,"  he  began  after 
the  customary  challenge  and  reply.  "  Where 
you  are  most  needed  is  along  toward  the  other 
end,  where  there  are  private  horses  in  flimsy 
stables." 

"I  know,  sir,"  said  the  soldier  promptly, 
"but  there's  something  amiss  out  there  oil 
the  road  toward  town.  I  heard  a  scuffle  and 
cries  for  help,  and  then  a  running  down  into 
the  creek  bottom.  The  corporal's  gone  out 
to  see.  I'm  afraid  there's  been  blood  spilt, 
sir." 

And,  even  as  they  stood  and  listened,  the 
still  night  air  was  split  by  the  loud  report  of  a 
carbine,  echoed  back  from  the  opposite  wall  of 
the  shallow  narrow  canon.  It  was  followed 
almost  instantly  by  a  cry  for  aid. 

"  Come  right  along  "  shouted  Merriam  to  the 
sentry,  and  he  sprang  away  in  the  direction  of 
the  alarm.  " Never  mind  your  post!" 

A  run  of  nearly  four  hundred  yards,  cross- 
ing diagonally  the  Junction  road  as  they  ran, 

brought  the  lieutenant  to  the   edge  of  the 
it 


t78  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

chasm,  at  a  point  where  one  could  see  some 
distance  down  the  stream,  the  sentry  panting 
several  rods  behind.  The  moonlight  was 
faint,  but  still  sufficient  to  enable  him  to  make 
out  the  form  of  a  man  apparently  crawling  on 
hands  and  knees  up  the  bank,  while  another 
lay  motionless  close  to  the  water's  edge.  Over 
this  latter  Corporal  Mahoney  was  bending,  im- 
ploring in  grief-stricken  tones.  Randy  went 
bounding  down  the  abrupt  slope,  sure-footed 
as  a  goat. 

"What's  the  matter,  corporal?  What  is 
it?", 

"Brady,  sir — stabbed  to  death,  I'm  'fraid 
There  was  three  of  'em  on  him,  and  more  at 
poor  Corcoran  yonder— Mexicans  all  of  'em, 
and  they  lit  out  straight  for  that  monte  shack 
across  the  mesa.  Their  horses  are  there,  I 
reckon.  Look  up,  Brady,  man,  for  God's 
sake!  Here's  the  lieutenant  come  to  help." 

Merriam  knelt,  threw  open  the  blue  blouse 
and  placed  his  hand  over  the  heart,  waited  a 
moment  and  shook  his  head.  His  hand  was 
dripping  with  blood  as  he  drew  it  out.  "  All 
over  with  poor  Brady,  I  fear,"  said  he.  "  Run 


179 

quick.  No.  2  followed  me  out.  Tell  him  to 
hurry  for  the  surgeon  and  send  the  litter  from 
the  hospital.  Who  fired?" 

"  I  did,  sir.  I  hoped  to  bring  down  one  of 
the  gang,  but  they  were  too  far  off,"  answered 
the  corporal,  as  he  was  pulling  himself  up  the 
bank. 

Turning  away  from  the  stricken  soldier  and 
dabbling  for  a  moment  his  hand  in  the  stream, 
Randy  called  to  Corcoran,  the  other  victim, 
who  was  groaning  and  cursing  alternately,  and 
who  presently  burst  into  maudlin  tears,  de- 
manding to  be  given  a  chance  to  stand  up 
against  the  damned  greasers  again,  that  he 
might  annihilate  the  entire  party.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  a  subtler  enemy  had  downed  him 
even  before  the  Mexican  took  hold.  He  was 
only  slightly  injured  physically,  but  his  mon- 
ey was  gone.  All  Randy  could  extract  from 
him  was  that  there  had  been  a  game  and  he 
wouldn't  pay  tip  because  the  greasers  were 
cheating,  and  they  chased  him  and  Brady,  and 
overtook  them  and  used  their  knives. 

Buxton  was  still  up  and  full  of  his  project  of 
sending  the  patrol  for  absentees  and  the  band, 


ARMY  WIFE. 

just,  as  soon  as  the  Riflers*  train  should  have 
started.  He  heard  the  call  for  the  surgeon 
and  promptly  turned  out  in  person.  The 
sleepy  horses  of  the  patrol  were  standing 
meekly  and  wonderingly  at  the  guard-house 
when  the  distant  shot  was  fired,  and,  borrowing 
one,  the  sergeant  galloped  out.  When  Bux 
appeared  he  borrowed  another  and  one  for  the 
surgeon.  Then,  after  hearing  Merriam's  brief 
recital,  he  ordered  him  to  mount  forthwith, 
take  the  entire  patrol  and  gallop  in  chase  of 
the  greasers. 

There  was  no  difficulty  in  learning  at  the 
wretched  shack  at  the  edge  of  the  reservation 
which  way  they  had  gone.  Nine  at  least  were 
in  the  party,  and  the  hoof-tracks  led  away 
southwestward  across  the  flat  until  they  struck 
the  line  of  the  railway,  two  miles  west  of  the 
Junction.  Here  there  seemed  to  have  been  a 
brief  halt,  discussion,  possibly  a  divide,  and  a 
split.  Two  horses  had  crossed  the  track  and 
gone  south;  the  others,  veering  westward,  had 
-  lit  out"  for  the  Santa  Clara,  and  Randy  Mer- 
riam,  a  trifle  hungry  now,  was  wishing  with  all 
his  heart  he  had  gone  first  to  Florence  and  left 


AN  ARMY   WIF&.  1*1 

the  inspection  of  the  stables  until  afterward, 
It  was  somewhere  about  two  o'clock  when  they 
started.  The  men  were  booted  and  spurred, 
but  Merriam  was  in  ordinary  trousers,  and  the 
troop  horse  he  rode  was  quick  to  find  the  spur 
was  gone  and  slow  to  mind  the  heel.  The 
McClellan  saddle,  too,  with  its  upright  pom- 
mel and  cantle  worried  him  after  the  ease  of 
his  own  Whitman.  When  dawn  came  he  was 
well-nigh  ready  to  give  up  the  chase  after 
fording  the  Santa  Clara  and  finding  the  trail 
had  turned  northwestward,  when  a  sharp-eyed 
trooper  swore  he  could  see  the  quarry  making 
for  the  foothills  and  not  two  miles  ahead ;  so 
Merriam  borrowed  a  single  spur  and  pushed 
vehemently,  vigorously  on. 

Then  broad  daylight  came,  and  there  could 
be  no  doubt  they  were  gaining.  The  chase 
was  hot.  The  pursued  were  tossing  off  saddle- 
bags, riatas,  and  other  detachable  horse-furni- 
ture to  lighten  their  weight,  but  they  stuck  to 
their  guns  and  ammunition.  Merriam's  men 
were  considerably  strung  out,  not  more  than 
six  being  well  up  within  supporting  distance, 
when  the  fact  that  they  were  in  range  of  the 


i8a  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

greasers  was  demonstrated  by  the  zip  and  sing 
of  a  bullet  close  alongside. 

"That's  business,"  muttered  the  trooper 
who  rode  close  on  his  left  rear.  "  Shall  I  try 
a  shot,  sir?" 

Merriam  shook  his  head.  The  situation  had 
few  points  in  its  favor.  Obedient  to  his  orders 
to  pursue  and  capture  the  gang,  Randy  had 
ridden  hard,  yet  over  many  a  mile  had  he 
asked  himself  the  question — Suppose  they  re- 
sist arrest,  what's  to  be  done?  He  had  no 
warrant.  He  was  not  even  a  deputy  sheriff, 
not  even  the  humblest  constituent  of  a  posse 
comitatus.  If  he  or  his  men  returned  their 
fire  and  shot  some  of  the«-e  unnatural  natural- 
ized voters  and  citizens,  like  as  not  an  indict- 
ment for  murder  would  be  hanging  over  his 
head,  if  not  hanging  him  in  the  course  of  a 
fortnight.  True,  there  was  no  sheriff  within 
seventy  miles,  and  long  before  the  civil  au- 
thorities could  be  brought  into  play  the  mur- 
derers of  Brady  would  be  scattered  all  over  the 
face  of  the  earth.  All  the  same,  under  the 
strict  interpretation  of  the  civil  law,  Lieuten- 
ant Merriam  knew  that  he  and  his  people  had 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  183 

no  more  business  trying  to  arrest  these  rene- 
gades than  they  had  to  vote  at  a  territorial 
election.  In  point  of  fact/  like  many  anothei 
officer  and  man,  soldier  of  Uncle  Sam  on  the 
broad  frontier,  he  was  aware  of  the  fact  that 
even  a  horse-thief  had  more  civil  rights  than 
the  trooper.  His  expedition,  therefore,  in  the 
eye  of  the  law  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than 
a  lawless  'dash,  winding  up  in  a  possible  free 
fight,  and  all  against  the  peace  and  dignity  of 
the  people  of  New  Mexico.  Perhaps  Buxton 
knew  this  too,  but  the  orders  he  gave  were 
peremptory,  and  Merriam  never  stopped  to 
reply,  reason  why,  or  expostulate.  But  now 
when  the  renegades  began  to  shoot  the  reason- 
ing why  had  to  be  done.  His  men  were  hot 
for  battle — so  was  he — but  the  nation  expects 
of  its  officers  that,  no  matter  what  the  tempta- 
tion, provocation,  or  exasperation,  they  keep 
cool  heads  and  tempers,  only  shoot  when  the 
law  permits,  but  then  shoot  to  kill.  No  claim 
of  self-defense  could  be  allowed.  They  were 
the  pursuing  and  therefore  the  attacking  party, 
and  though  these  Mexicans  were  followed  red- 
handed,  hot-footed,  there  could  be  no  question 


f 84  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

what  a  civil  jury  would  say  if  any  of  their 
dingy  hides  were  punctured  by  the  balls  of  a 
brutal  soldiery. 

Zip — bang! — a  second  shot.  Bing-g-g-g 
wrrrrr — bang!  another,  and  Corporal  Butts 
ducked  his  head  and  darnned>  and  Trooper 
Mullen's  charger  squealed  and  lunged  and 
kicked  viciously  with  the  seam  of  a  bullet 
scathing  his  flank  and  ploughing  the  haunch. 
They  were  closing  on  the  ruffians  fast,  then, 
and  the  temptation  was  overpowering.  "  I 
can't  ride  my  men  in  to  be  shot  down  like 
dogs,"  growled  Randy.  <4  In  for  a  penny,  in 
for  a  pound.  They  started  it  anyway," 
he  said  t$>  himself,  then  turned  in  saddle 
and  waved  high  his  forage-cap.  "Close 
up!  Close  up,  men!"  he  cried,  meaning 
to  draw  rein,  slacken  speed  a  bit,  and  get 
all  his  party  together  before  closing  for  ac- 
tion. The  Mexicans  were  plainly  winded. 
Their  half-starved  brutes  had  carried  them 
tinder  bloody  spurring  as  far  as  they  could  and 
were  now  barely  staggering  along.  What 
their  riders  dreaded  was  summary  stringing  up 
to  the  railway  telegraph-poles  if  captured. 


ARMY   WIFE.  1*5 

Better  die  fighting,  said  the  leader,  and  fight 
>t  was. 

They  were  close  to  the  entrance  of  a  little 
ravine  that  set  in  among  the  barren  slopes 
from  the  open  ground  to  the  east.  All  the 
way  from  the  Santa  Clara  the  ascent  had  been 
gradual  but  distinctly  marked,  and  just  as  the 
foremost  rider  spurred  around  the  shoulder  of 
the  hillside  his  panting  broncho  stumbled,  went 
down,  rolled  helplessly  over  and  lay  there 
dead  to  kicks,  curses,  or  blows.  Three  of  the 
gang  lashed  onward,  leaving  their  countryman 
to  his  fate,  but  two  of  them,  better  nerved, 
reined  up,  alighted,  and,  throwing  themselves 
flat  upon  the  ground,  opened  again  a  rapid  and 
telling  fire  from  their  Winchesters.  "MiraJ 
el  Teniente,"  was  the  word,  linked  with  a  sav- 
age Spanish  curse  that  hissed  from  the  black 
lips  of  the  nearest,  and  in  an  instant  Merriam 
became  the  target  for  the  sharp  fire  of  three 
magazine  rifles,  famous  for  their  accuracy  at 
no  greater  distance  than  the  four  hundred 
yards  that  now  separated  them.  Almost 
befrre  he  could  realize  it  Randy  felt  a  sharp 
sting  just  at  the  outer  edge  of  his  bridle  arm, 


t8<*  AN  ARMY  W1PB. 

and  knew  that  the  blood  gushed  from  the 
wound.  Then  all  of  a  sudden  his  poor  troop 
horse  plunged  heavily  forward,  and,  groaning 
and  struggling,  went  down  in  a  heap,  bearing 
his  rider  helplessly  with  him. 

Two  minutes  more,  as  some  of  the  men  dis- 
mounted and  with  rapid  and  effective  fire  scat- 
tered the  Mexicans  to  shelter  within  the  ra- 
vine, Corporal  Butts  and  a  trooper  succeeded 
in  pulling  Merriam  free  from  the  madly  lash- 
ing, struggling,  stricken  brute,  and  then  it  was 
found  that  their  pallid,  speechless  leader  had 
received  some  serious  injury.  All  the  breath 
was  knocked  out  of  his  body  and  the  bridle  arm 
was  broken  midway  between  the  wrist  and  el- 
bow. That  ended  the  chase.  Four  or  five 
men,  it  is  true,  took  advantage  of  the  fact  that 
the  lieutenant  was  knocked  out  to  dash  ahead 
and  have  a  personal  affair  with  the  greasers, 
and  later  in  the  day,  when,  after  a  long,  long 
ride,  Trooper  Mullen  reached  a  friendly  ranch- 
man on  the  Santa  Clara  and  had  him  send  out 
his  spring  wagon  for  the  wounded  officer, 
these  enthusiasts  came  drifting  back,  there  was 
reason  for  belief  that  their  ammunition  had 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  187 

not  been  entirely  spent  in  vain.  But  it  was 
a  worn-out,  used-up  detachment,  escorting  a 
two- wheeled,  improvised  ambulance,  that  re- 
crossed  the  Santa  Clara  late  that  afternoon 
and  was  met  there  by  the  assistant  surgeon. 

"  I  hope  you  saw  Mrs.  Merriam  before  you 
started,"  was  Randy's  faint  greeting.  "She 
wasn't  much  worried,  was  she?  I  tried  to 
scrawl  a  line  or  two,  and  we  made  the  mes- 
senger swear  I  was  only  lamed  by  the  fall  of 
the  horse.  You  saw  her — didn't  you?" 

"No— o,"  hesitated  the  doctor,  "I  didn't, 
Merriam.  You  see  there  wasn't  time.  You 
know  how  it  is  with  old  Bux.  Steady  with 
that  stretcher  there,  steward.  Just  let  me 
slip  this  support  under  the  lieutenant's 
shoulder.  You  know  Bux  insisted  on  my 
starting  instantly." 

"  But  who  took  my  note  to  her  then  ?  Who 
went  to  her?"  persisted  Randy.  "  It — it  would 
never  do  to  have  her  frightened — now — 'doc- 
tor." 

"Oh,  that'll  be  all  right,  Randy.  Don't 
worry  about  that.  I'm  sure  what  she  has 
heard  hasn't  hurt  her.  Mrs. — oh,  yes,  Mrs. 


Iti  AN  ARMY    WIFR. 

Hayne  was  over  at  your  house  when  I  came 
away." 

"  Thank  God  for  that !"  murmured  poor  Ran- 
dy, as  he  took  the  drink  the  doctor  gave  him. 
"Heaven  bless  that  dear  woman,  anyhow. 
Now  get  me  home  as  soon  as  you  can,  old 
fellow." 

But  the  whispered  caution  to  the  driver, 
given  as  the  doctor  reappeared  and,  mounting, 
rode  alongside,  was,  "Go  slow — slow  as  you 
can."  Then  to  the  hospital  attendant  who 
had  ridden  out  with  him  he  muttered,  "  Now 
ride  ahead,  Parks,  and  see  if  there's  any  news." 


Then  M~s,  Bvxton  ventured  to  ^re  a  shot? 


CHAPTER  XII. 

WHEN  Florence  regained  strength  enough 
to  move  she  crept  slowly  back  to  her  little 
parlor,  where  the  beacon  lights  that  were  to 
summon  her  husband  were  still  faithfully, 
fruitlessly  burning.  She  looked  in  at  the  din- 
ing-room and  its  preparation  for  cheer  and 
welcome,  and  turned  away  with  a  shiver  of 
disgust,  and  then,  with  a  moan  of  pathetic 
misery,  threw  herself  into  an  armchair  and 
tried  to  think.  What  should  she  do?  What 
could  she  do?  Her  love  for  Randy  was  so 
fond,  so  glowing,  that  she  had  gifted  him  with 
the  qualities  of  a  god,  leaning  upon  him  in 
everything,  trusting  him  in  everything,  relying 
upon  his  word  as  though  it  were  a  pledge  from 
on  high ;  and  yet  within  these  few  hours  he 
had,  all  unasked,  given  her  his  promise  not  to 
see  or  speak  with  that — woman  again  except 
he  came  first  to  her — his  wife — and  told  her 
the  need;  then  had  gone  secretly,  almost  di« 


AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

rectly,  to  meet  his  old  love  in  the  shadows  of 
the  night  long  after  the  hour  that  usually  sav 
the  last  light  extinguished  along  officers'  ro\v. 
If  her  old  friend  from  baby  days,  the  colo- 
nel, had  come  to  her  and  said  that  Randy  was 
false;  if  her  idol,  her  beloved  father,  had 
added  his  confirmation  of  the  colonel's  views, 
she  would  have  laughed  them  down  so  long 
as  Randy — her  hero  Randy — swore  that  he 
was  true.  Many  a  woman  will  stand  by  her 
lover  against  a  world  in  evidence,  yet  turn  to 
stone  against  him  when  she  sees  one  apparent 
sign  of  interest  in  another.  Poor  girl!  He 
was  her  first,  her  only  love.  He  was  hers  and 
only  hers,  and  should  be  only  hers,  for  when 
that  other — creature  had  scorned  and  denied 
him,  had  he  not  been  brought  sore-stricken  to 
her  doors?  Had  she  not  won  him  back  to  life 
through  the  wealth  and  glory  of  her  own  un- 
suspected love?  From  the  day  of  their  wed 
ding  until  this  woman  came  never  had  she 
known  a  wish  that  was  not  his.  Day  and 
night  she  dreamed,  planned,  and  thought  for 
him,  sought  only  to  make  herself  worthier  his 
love,  dearer  to  his  eyes— sweeter  to  his  caress. 


AN  ARMY  WIF^  191 

Wno  was  there  to  compare  with  him  in  manli- 
ness, in  courtesy,  in  knightly  bearing?  What 
officer  was  the  peer  of  Randy — what  officer 
even  in  the  dear  old  Riflers  with  whom  had 
been  her  home  from  baby  days?  They  chided 
her,  some  of  the  girls,  in  what  they  called  her 
defection  "  You  used  to  say  tfrere  could  be  no 
regiment  like  the  Riflers,  Floy.  You  used  to 
vow  you'd  never  marry  out  of  the  old  regi- 
ment." "Aye,  but  that  was  before  Randy 
came,"  was  her  simple  answer,  and  then  they 
told  her  Randy  was  her  world,  and  proudly 
she  answered,  "  I  believe  he  is."  They  warned 
her — some  of  the  older  and  wiser  matrons — 
and  God  knows  they  had  much  on  which  to 
base  their  views — it  was  never  safe  to  love  any 
man  too  much,  even  Randy;  to  which  she  an- 
swered with  sunshine  in  her  eyes,  "  How  could 
one  love  Randy  too  much?"  Mind  you,  she 
never  volunteered  these  overflowings  of  her 
heart,  but  these  woman  had  been  her  friends 
from  her  earliest  days.  She  was  still  shy, 
even  with  him,  but  such  well-meant  warnings 
always  seemed  to  put  her  on  the  defensive,  as 
it  were,  and,  poor  child,  she  believed  it  her 


H9*  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

duty  to  her  husband  that  she  should  never  at* 
low  him  to  go  undefended,  even  though  the 
attack  were  intangible  as  a  woman's  sneer. 
And  they  looked  so  well  together,  and  he  was 
so  proud  of  her,  so  devoted  to  her,  "  so  con- 
scious of  her,"  as  some  one  said.  Nowhere  in 
that  garrison  was  there  man  or  woman  who 
was  able  to  say  that  Randy  had  not  borne  him- 
self as  an  almost  ideal  lover  and  husband  ever 
since  that  sun-kissed  wedding  day.  Many 
could  even  feel  a  sense  of  what  is  called 
"agreeable  disappointment,"  which  always 
strikes  me  as  a  phraseological  parallel  for  that 
other  remarkable  euphemism  of  so  many  of 
our  countrywomen — "she's  enjoying  poor 
health."  Yet  withal,  Florence  had  the  sym- 
pathy, the  genuine  affection  of  all  Fort  Sedg- 
wick,  even  in — or  rather  notwithstanding — 
her  enthusiastic  estimate  of  Randy's  qualities 
as  husband  and  as  man,  and  her  own  extreme 
beatitude  as  wife.  Then  Mrs.  Buxton  ven- 
tured to  fire  a  shot,  as  she  stood  watching 
them  strolling  homeward  together  after  par- 
ade one  evening,  absorbed  in  one  another,  and 
to  observe  to  her  own  supremely  indifferent 


"  You  always  call  when  I'm  washing? 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  193 

lord,  "There  now,  Bux,  there's  another  girl 
making  a  fool  of  herself  over  a  man,  only 
she's  the  sweetest  fool  I  ever  knew  in  my 
born  days." 

Bux  himself  roared  it  out  for  Floy's  benefit 
not  long  after,  and  did  it  so  that  half  Fort 
Sedgwick  heard  it,  for  the  one  valuable  qual- 
ity Bux  possessed  as  a  cavalry  officer  was  his 
voice.  The  volume  of  sound  he  could  produce 
when  be1lowing  instructions  to  a  regimental 
skirmish-line  was  something  prodigious,  but  of 
so  rasping  and  exasperating  a  timbre  that  his 
old-time  derider,  Blake,  likened  it  in  force  to 
a  fog-horn  and  in  staying  power  to  boiled  cab- 
bage— not  a  neat  comparison  but  one  expressly 
fitting. 

And  now,  strangely  enough,  this  maddest  of 
nights  poor  Florence  could  not  get  those 
words  and  that  tone  out  of  her  head.  She 
had  flushed  and  turned  speechless  away  at  the 
time,  hurt  to  her  soul  and  indignant,  too, 
but  the  training  of  her  youth  was  strong. 
These  were  people  her  father  and  mother 
had  taught  her  to  respect,  and  though  angry, 
indignant,  remonstrance  was  in  her  heart. 


194  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

she  stifled  the  words  that  strove  to  spring  to 
her  lips. 

"I  expect  I've  put  my  foot  in  it  again  to- 
day," reported  Bux  to  his  better-half,  when  he 
got  home. 

"Well,  I'm  sure  Pm  never  surprised,"  was 
the  lady's  prompt  reply. 

"I  fear  I've  been  rude  to  Colonel  Buxton, 
Randy,"  faltered  Floy,  when  that  gentleman 
came  in  from  troop  drill  an  hour  later. 

"  You  couldn't  be  rude  even  to  Bux,  my  dar- 
ling," was  his  answer,  as  he  folded  her  in  his 
arms. 

And  these  are  not  types  of  the  "first  year 
wedded"  and  the  "  quarter-century  mated"  love 
as  seen  in  the  army.  I  have  known  many 
and  many  a  couple  who  have  risen  together 
through  every  grade  in  the  line,  loved,  lov- 
ing, and  lovers  to  the  end. 

At  one  o'clock  Florence  had  set  her  lights 
in  the  parlor  window.  At  two,  with  that 
booming,  gong-like  sound  reverberating  in 
her  ears,  that  incessant  repetition  of  Buxton 's 
coarse  words,  she  had  sprung  from  the  chair  in 
which  she  had  been  brooding,  writhing,  shud- 


AN  AFMY  WIFE.  1*5 

dering  for  half  an  hour,  and  then,  tearing  down 
the  shade,  close  looping  the  curtains,  she  hur- 
ried to  the  hall  and  locked  and  bolted  the 
door.  "  Another  girl  making  a  fool  of  herself 
for  a  man —  another  girl!"  God!  how  the 
words  rang — resounded  through  her  brain, 
buzzed  and  whirred  like  angry  wasps  in  her 
ears,  hissed  and  rattled,  aye,  stung  like  the 
venomous  reptiles  she  had  learned  to  shun 
from  early  childhood.  '*  Making  a  fool  of  her«- 
self  for  a  man  who  would  leave  hep — so  soou 
— for  that  painted — yes — that  padded  thing!" 
They'd  soon  learn  that  an  army-bred  girl 
loved,  indeed,  with  all  her  heart  and  soul,  but 
could  hate,  hate,  hate  as  well ! 

Wild-eyed,  with  beating  heart,  she  rushed 
through  the  little  dining-room  to  the  dark 
kitchen  beyond  and  rapped  imperiously  at  a 
door.  "Hop  Ling!"  she  cried,  "up,  I  need 
you."  No  answer.  "The  brute,"  she  mur- 
mured to  herself,  as  she  threw  herself  heavily 
upon  the  door,  and  it  flew  open  and  plunged 
her  in.  The  Chinaman's  little  sanctum  was 
deserted.  She  kept  no  maid.  One  schooled 
Chinaman  easily  and  efficiently  did  all  the 


I9<*  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

housework  of  a  lieutenant's  humble  quarters 
and  was  generally  employed  in  that  capacity 
in  almost  every  garrison  of  the  far  West.  She 
flew  to  the  rear  door  and  locked  that,  then  up 
to  the  second  story  where  were  the  pretty 
guest-rooms  as  well  as  their  own — lr«rs  and 
Randy's,  with  all  their  closets  and  nooks  and 
corners.  She  took  one  rapid  survey  through 
them,  and  then  one  fierce,  wild  look  at  herself 
in  the  mirror  of  her  dainty  dressing-table. 
Are  you  Floy  Tremaine?  Are  you  the  little 
girl  who  was  reared  in  the  Riflers?  Are  you 
to  make  a  lifelong  fool  for  any  man?  And  as 
she  spoke  she  began  to  open  the  dress  she  had 
been  wearing  for  Randy's  benefit.  The  folds 
of  the  stylish  skirt,  one  of  Mrs.  Hayne's  plan- 
ning when  in  Chicago,  were  tossed  in  reckless 
disorder  upon  the  snowy  coverlet  of  the  bed, 
and  her  precious  locket — Randy's  locket — was 
as  suddenly  unclasped  from  the  round,  white 
throat,  and  in  all  the  tumult  in  her  soul  she 
heard  no  sound  of  the  sudden  stir  and  sortie 
at  the  guard-house.  She  never  knew  that 
there  was  no  sentry  faithful  to  his  watch  along 
the  rear  of  officers'  row,  to  take  up  and  pass 


"Are you  Flo  Trtmaine?" 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  197 

on  the  stirring,  reassuring  cry  that  no  army 
girl  can  hear  without  rejoicing  or  miss  with- 
out alarm — "Two  o'clock  and  all's  well." 

The  dawn  was  breaking  over  the  far  Jornada 
and  turning  the  distant  Guadaloupe  into  gold 
when  the  Riflers  rolled  away — officers  and 
men,  "barring  the  band  and  Company  'Ike'* 
at  Sedgwick,"  as  the  cavalry  trumpeter  re- 
marked to  the  gunner  when  they  were  going 
out  to  stir  the  echoes  with  their  reveille ;  only 
these  at  Sedgwick,  and  one  stalwart  old  cap- 
tain with  his  devoted  half -hundred,  Tremaine, 
still  doing  duty  at  the  cantonment — fond,  lone- 
ly old  father,  whose  heart  was  wrapped  up  in 
that  one  child,  yet  could  not  deny  her  to  the 
man  she  loved  so  well.  Sedgwick  was  begin- 
ning to  yawn  and  stir.  The  night  owls  in  the 
canons  were  hooting  back  to  their  nests,  dis- 
mayed by  the  howlings  of  the  human  night 


*  By  War  Department  order  a  few  years  ago  Companies 
"I"  and  "K"  of  each  regiment  of  Infantry  were  "skele- 
tonized" by  transfer  of  their  men  to  other  companies,  leav- 
ing those  two  merely  paper  commands.  Just  as  "  Co.  Q"  has 
been  for  years  the  derisive  title  of  the  guard-house  prison- 
ers, so  does  *'  Co.  Ike"  begin  to  appear  as  a  name  for  the 
bereaved  and  friendless  commands  referred  to. 


198  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

owls  tacking  home  to  duty,  already  half  regret- 
ful of  the  whiskey  wasted,  while  before  them 
was  that  remorseless  wrath  to  come.  The 
cooks  were  astir  in  the  barracks,  and  filmy 
smoke-veils  were  sailing  straight  aloft  from 
the  chimneys  of  half  a  dozen  company  kitch- 
ens. Already,  too,  the  household  servants 
along  the  row  of  cavalry  officers'  quarters,  that 
which  backed  to  the  south,  were  lighting  their 
little  morning  blazes,  for  Sedgwick  lay  beyond 
range  a-nd  anthracite.  In  the  good  old  days  of 
tw'enty  years  before,  the  cocktail,  not  coffee, 
was  the  necessary  prelude  to  reveille  and 
morning  stables.  Now,  with  the  wisdom  that 
comes  long  after  war,  only  case-hardened,  red- 
nosed,  furrowed-cheeked,  bandy-legged  old 
dragoons  ever  dreamed  of  a  drink  at  that  hour 
of  leap  from  sleep  to  life :  the  inner  cavalry- 
man craves  the  juice  of  Mocha  and  mocks  at 
rye.  From  every  "set**  of  cavalry  quarters 
then  the  kitchen  chimney  sent  aloft  its  feath- 
ery plume,  with  one  exception — a  subaltern's 
house  well  over  toward  the  western  end  of  the 
row ;  and  toward  the  gate  thereof,  edging  away 
from  the  ribald  homeward-bound  of  the  main 


AN  ARMY  W2FE.  199 

road  and  shuffling  stolidly  across  the  mesa, 
Hop  Ling  was  making  his  rapid  way.  Fan-tan 
had  gone  against  him,  and  but  for  his  hands 
his  pockets  were  empty.  Hop  bore  with  him 
an  air  of  depression,  and  was  followed  by  a 
faint  fragrance  as  of  mandragora.  His  bleary 
little  eyes  were  seaching  furtively  along  that 
line  of  fence  and  stables  for  the  gleam  of  the 
sentry's  carbine  and  cap  ornaments.  He  must 
place  that  watchman  of  the  night  and  know 
his  ground  before  he  entered  post.  'Spose  the 
officer  of  the  guard  had  happened  to  meet  him 
during  the  night.  'Spose  somebody  sick. 
"  Spose  Misse  Mellium  she  wanttee  chow- 
chow?"  Bang!  the  morning  gun  roared  its 
lusty  summons  to  be  up  and  doing,  and  skulk- 
ing coyotes  squatted  lower  as  they  sneaked 
away  from  the  outlying  quarters,  no  chicken 
the  richer,  and  the  guard  turned  out  with 
twenty  additions  to  Company  "Q"  and  more 
still  a-coming ;  and  the  telegraph  instrument  in 
the  clerk's  office  began  to  call  "  Lalarrup — La- 
larrup — Lalarrup,"  and  the  soldier  operator, 
washing  his  face  in  a  tin  basin  outside, 
glanced  up  and  said, "  You  be  damned  J  You 


f«0  AN  ARMV   WIFE. 

always  call  when  I'm  washing.  What  n  hell's 
tip  now?"  and  had  to  drop  ablutions  and, 
wringing  his  hands  as  he  ran,  to  answer  the 
sharp,  insistent  summons ;  and  as  he  listened 
his  face  grew  keen  and  excited,  and,  checking 
the  rapid  clicking  of  the  key  one  instant,  he 
yelled  to  the  drowsy  clerk  in  the  adjoining 
office,  "Billy — quick!  Tumble  up  and  see 
if  Lieutenant  Merrium's  back.  I've  a  mes- 
sage for  him,"  and  then  clicked  and  listened 
and  noted  again ;  but  the  reveille  was  chirrup- 
ing its  merry  music,  and  the  sweet,  cool, 
morning  air  rang  with  the  melody,  and  the 
troopers  were  tumbling  out  from  the  barracks, 
and  ever  across  the  parade  officers  came  stalk- 
ing forth  from  their  doorways,  for  the  — th 
were  sticklers  about  morning  stables  and  roll 
call ;  and,  most  prominent  figure  of  all,  streak- 
ing across  the  mesa  with  pigtails  and  pajamas 
a-flying,  with  his  felt-bottomed  boots  fairly 
flashing,  with  flaring  eyes,  distended  for  once 
at  least  with  mad  appeal  and  dread  in  every 
feature  and  shrill  distress  in  his  chattering 
tones,  came  Hop  Ling,  straight  for  the  guard 
house  and  shrieking  for  *  Mellium." 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  291 

\  new  officer  of  the  guard,  a  scowling  and 
unresponsive  man,  turned  from  hi?  survey  of 
the  array  of  grinning  prisoners,  forgetting 
their  own  troubles  in  the  contemplation  of 
Hop's  grotesque  misery,  and  this  new  official, 
Whittaker  by  name,  sternly  shouted,  "Stop 
your  infernal  noise,  you  clapper-jawed  heathen. 
What  the  devil's  the  matter?" 

"  Mellium !  Mellium  I"  was  all  poor  Hop 
could  pant. 

"Mr.  Merriam  isn't  here,"  said  Whittaker 
majestically. 

"Oh — wha  he  gone? — Misse  Mellium  gone! 
She  gone — Minion — allee  gone !" 

"  Whew !"  said  Whittaker.  "  Sergeant,  take 
charge  of  the  guard.  I've  got  to  go  up  to 
Captain  Graf  ton's  and  report  this.  Come  on 
with  me,  you  heathen,"  and,  forgetful  of  the 
officer  of  the  day  and  only  too  ready  to  visit 
Grafton's  and  bask  under  that  window,  the 
lieutenant  hastened  away,  Hop  obediently  and 
hopefully  following.  Matters  weren't  so  bad 
perhaps,  then,  after  all,  thought .  he.  Odd 
though  the  freak  might  be,  his  master  and 
mistress  might  possibly  have  trotted  away 


202  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

together  tor  a  very  early  morning  ride  and 
would  soon  be  back  demanding  breakfast. 

But  Grafton  was  out  in  an  instant,  and 
together  did  the  three  hasten  to  the  pretty 
nest  which  Randy  had  so  proudly  furnished 
for  Lis  bride.  Hop  ushered  them  to  the  dark, 
empty  parlor,  then  to  the  empty  rooms  above. 

There  on  the  unrumpled  bed,  just  where  she 
had  thrown  them,  were  the  garments  Floy  had 
hastily  discarded.  There  on  the  dressing- 
table  were  toilet  articles  in  wild  disarray. 
"She's  heard  in  some  way  of  his  orders  to 
chase  those  damned  greasers,"  said  Whittaker 
sullenly.  He,  who  hated  the  name  of  Fanny 
Hayward  a  year  gone  by  for  having  jilted  his 
fondest  friend,  now  well-nigh  hated  him  be- 
cause the  woman  sought  him  again,  and  Whit- 
taker  knew  it. 

"We  can  soon  tell,"  said  Grafton  briefly, 
"by  following  her  trail." 

Down  to  the  little  stable  they  went;  but 
first  Grafton  stepped  back  into  Randy's  bath 
and  dressing-room.  Yes,  just  as  he  thought, 
there  was  a  note  stuck  in  Randy's  mirror,  but 
no  womanly  little  scrawl,  no  young  wife's  coo- 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  203 

ing  confidence  to  her  devoted  mate.  It  was  in 
stout  envelope,  and  the  superscription,  in  a 
hand  that  spread  itself  over  the  entire  face, 
was  formal,  indeed  menacing: 

LIEUTENANT  MERRIAM, 
Private 

and  personal.  — th  Cavalry. 

The  captain's  face  grew  quickly  grave  as  he 
came  forth  and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

"Which  way  did  Merriam  head?"  asked  he 
of  Whittaker  a  moment  later,  as  the  three  re- 
gathered  back  of  the  line. 

"Straight  off  to  the  southwest,"  said  Whit- 
taker,  "and  here  go  her  tracks — by  Jove! 
Straight  away  for  the  end  of  the  row — and — 
'from  there? " 

The  two  officers  looked  in  each  other's  eyes 
a  moment,  then  strode  hurriedly  to  the  west 
end  of  the  line.  Before  them  there — broad 
and  far  spreading,  brave  in  the  slanting  sun- 
shine,  the  rolling  reach  of  the  mesa  toward 
the  Santa  Clara.  Beyond  that  valley  the 
slow-rising  stretch  of  desert  toward  the  old, 
old  mission  miles  and  miles  away.  Beyond 


204  AN  ARM?    WIFE. 

all,  the  far  foothills  and  glistening  range  of 
:he  Mescalero. 

But  not  toward  these  did  Mignon's  dainty 
foot-tracks  lead.  Straight  as  the  crow  flies 
they  clipped  the  sandy  barren  when  once  well 
out  beyond  the  line  and  hearing  of  the  west- 
ward sentry.  Straight,  swift,  and  sure,  like 
homing  pigeon,  Floy  had  evidently  shaken 
loose  her  rein  and  bade  her  pet  and  precious 
bear  her,  swerving  never,  far  at  least  as 
strength  would  last,  to  where  there  was  ever 
waiting  her  the  changeless  love  and  pity  and 
protection  of  the  sheltering  arms  at  the  old 
uantonment,  now  her  only  hope  of  home. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

"No  word  of  this  to  any  one,  Whittaker," 
said  Grafton,  as  they  turned  away.  He  was 
beginning  to  see  through  it  all.  He  knew 
that  two  ladies  of  the  garrison  were  calling  at 
iiis  quarters  just  at  that  luckless  hour  near  re- 
treat, when,  as  he  had  urged,  Merriam  went 
thither  and  asked  for  Mrs.  McLane.  He  knew 
that  they  had  left  and  gone  on  up  the  row 
while  his  wife  was  expostulating  with  Fanny 
aloft  and  Randy  was  waiting  below.  He  knew 
that  one  at  least  of  their  number  would  be  sure 
to  tell  what  was  occurring,  not  as  a  matter  of 
malice  by  any  means,  but  simply  because  she 
couldn't  help  telling  anything  and  everything 
that  she  saw  and  heard.  He  knew  that  sym- 
pathizing women  were  dropping  in  every  few 
minutes  to  see  "  dear  Florrie"  herself,  if  a  pos- 
sible thing,  or  to  inquire  how  she  was,  and  he 
quickly  conjectured  that  one  or  more  of  these 


206  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

visitors  had  let  fall  the  fatal  observation. 
What  Grafton  did  not  know  was  that  such  a 
visitation  had  befallen  after  Florence  had  vir- 
tually asked  Randy  to  tell  where  he  had  been, 
and  after  his  hapless  failure  to  explain  imme- 
diately the  entire  circumstances.  It  roused 
the  demon  of  her  passionate  nature  to  be  told 
the  truth  by  other  lips  than  his.  But  this  in 
itself,  reasoned  Grafton,  was  not  enough  to 
drive  Florence  into  flight.  She  must  have 
watched  for  his  later  coming,  must  have  seen 
him  go — oh,  fatal  step !  for  which  he,  George 
Grafton,  and  no  one  else,  was  responsible! — 
away  from  the  path  that  led  to  his  wife  and 
home,  straight  to  that  which  bore  him  to  the 
side  of  the  woman  he  had  loved  before  ever  he 
set  eyes  on  Floy  Tremaine.  And  thither  she, 
perchance,  had  followed ;  but  there — what  had 
she  seen? — what  had  she  heard?  There  were 
aching  hearts  in  many  households  at  Sedgwick 
that  cloudless  morning,  but  the  man  who  suf- 
fered most  was  Grafton.  The  whole  truth 
flashed  upon  him  as  he  followed  the  prints  of 
Mignon's  nimble  hoof.  He  would  have  to  tell 
his  wife  and  Mrs.  Hayne,  but  no  one  else. 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  207 

"No  word  of  this  to  anyone,  Whittaker," 
therefore  he  cautioned,  with  a  sign. 

"Well,  I'm  not  all  asinine,"  was  that 
troubled  subaltern's  reply,  "though  I  dare  say 
you've  thought  me  so  of  late." 

"God  forbid  that  I  should  judge  any  man," 
thought  Grafton  to  himself,  "after  what  I've 
done  this  past  night." 

Harriet  Grafton  was  greatly  shocked  when 
told  her  husband's  fears,  and  did  not  al- 
together meekly  accept  his  caution  to  keep  the 
secret  from  Fanny,  who  still  slept  the  sleep  of 
the  innocent  and  virtuous  and  clear  of  con- 
science. Hop  Ling  had  been  told  to  go  in- 
doors, put  all  the  rooms  to  rights,  have  the 
breakfast-table  set,  and  breakfast  prepared  as 
usual,  and  he  wondered  but  obeyed.  Mrs. 
Hayne  was  speedily  aroused  by  the  announce- 
ment that  Mrs.  Grafton  was  below,  and  was 
well  aware  that  something  extraordinary  had 
occurred  to  warrant  a  call  at  so  early  an  hour. 
Even  the  children,  wearied  after  last  night's 
vigil,  were  still  asleep.  Donning  a  wrapper, 
she  hastened  out  on  the  landing  and  softly 
called  over  the  balusters,  "  I  know  you  have 


208  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 


news   for   me,    Mrs.   Giafton,    please    come 
up." 

And  in  the  telling  of  her  tidings,  was  it  any 
wonder  that  the  younger  matron  burst  into 
tears? 

"  We  must  try  to  make  it  seem  that  she  has 
ridden  off  at  dawn  in  hopes  of  meeting  Randy 
on  his  return  with  the  prisoners,'*  was  Mrs. 
Hayne's  decision,  after  she  had  recovered 
from  the  shock  and  had  heard  the  whole  story  ; 
and  this  commended  itself  to  Grafton  as  wise 
when  his  wife  came  back  to  him  and  he  had 
returned  from  the  never-to-be-neglected 
"morning  stables."  And  this  too  was  what 
they  intended  at  first  to  say  to  Merriam  when 
he  should  come  in,  ravenous  for  breakfast  and 
astonished  at  not  finding  his  wife.  But  high 
loon  came  and  brought  no  Randy.  In  the 
words  of  the  acting  adjutant,  high  noon 
brought  only  high  jinks. 

Crane,  officer  of  the  day,  and  a  dozen  other 
officers  had  seen  Hop  Ling's  frantic  charge 
across  the  parade  at  reveille,  and  numbers  of 
men  had  heard  his  announcement  of  the  gen- 
eral hegira  at  Merriam  's.  Before  guard 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  209 

mounting  it  was  known  that  Mignon's  trail  led 
straight  away  to  the  upper  fords  of  the  Santa 
Clara — far  from  the  direction  in  which  Randy 
had  gone.  At  ten  a  herdsman  came  in  who 
said  he  "  reckoned  the  lady  must  have  dropped 
this."  He  saw  her  riding  like  the  wind  the 
short  cut  for  Jose's  ranch  on  the  old  Navajo 
trail,  and  he  handed  over  poor  Florrie's  lit- 
tle traveling-bag,  which  she  had  evidently 
strapped  to  her  saddle,  never  calculating — 
perhaps  never  caring — what  the  strain  might 
be,  never  missing  it  when  it  was  gone. 
They  sent  it  to  Mrs.  Hayne,  who  could  no 
longer  keep  up  her  brave  face  but  sobbed 
over  it  as  would  a  mother  over  some  prized 
relic  of  a  lost  and  beloved  child. 

Thes  Bax  ordered  out  three  of  his  swiftest 
trailcj  =  and  riders  and  the  best  light  wagon  at 
the  post.  With  the  wagon  went  the  post  sur- 
geon and  Mrs.  Hayne,  who  left  her  brood  to  a 
neighbor's  care.  They  took  with  them  such 
rugs  and  restoratives  as  seemed  necessary,  and 
at  noon  they  were  across  the  Santa  Clara  *on 
the  road  to-  the  cantonment,  expecting  to 
reach  Jose's  by  nightfall  and  find  their  run- 


810  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

away  darling  there,  exhausted  by  her  long 
hours  in  saddle  and  compelled  to  stay  under 
that  friendly  shelter,  as  (sometimes  with  her 
father  and  twice  at  least  with  Randy)  she  had 
stayed  on  her  journeys  to  and  fro.  There  she 
would  have  to  remain  over  night  until  Mignon 
should  be  able  to  go  on  again  with  the  rise  of 
the  morning  star. 

Meantime  the  wires  from  Cimarron  Junc- 
tion had  been  hot  with  news,  and  McGrath, 
the  operator,  lived  the  day  of  his  life,  for  hours 
the  most  important  man  at  the  post.  The 
rioters  had  got  wind  of  the  coming  of  troops 
and  had  sought  to  block  the  way  by  wrecking 
a  freight  caboose  in  Calamas  Gorge.  The 
Riflers  swarmed  out  and  had  things  in  shape 
within  the  hour,  and  went  whistling  on  again. 
Every  one  knew  trouble  would  end  the  moment 
they  got  to  the  scene  of  the  strike,  but  what 
might  not  happen  meantime? 

Something  had  happened.  On  one  of  the 
passenger  trains  blockaded  beyond  Cimarron 
was  a  Chicago  lawyer  of  most  active  mind  and 
being,  a  Chicagoan  of  no  little  experience  with 
scenes  of  the  kind,  and  this  gentleman  had 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  911 

fired  message  after  message  to  Lieutenant 
Randolph  Merriam,  at  Sedgwick,  and  finally 
demanded  reason  for  that  officer's  silence. 

"  What'll  I  do  with  this  here,  sir?"  said  Me- 
Grath,  coming  finally  into  the  adjutant's  office. 
"There's  three  messages  here  for  Mr.  Mer- 
riam, urgent  ones  too,  and  finally  the  sender 
asks  why  he  don't  reply." 

"Say  that  Mr.  Merriam  is  still  away  after 
Mexican  murderers  and  we  expect  him  any 
minute.  Ask  if  any  other  officer  will  do? 
Hello!  What's  that,  orderly?"  he  broke  off, 
at  the  sound  of  hoof -beats  and  excited  voices 
without. 

A  trooper  entered,  dust-covered  and  weary, 
to  make  his  brief  report,  Captain  Grafton  dart- 
ing in  just  in  time  for  the  news. 

"Lieutenant  Merriam's  wounded,  sir,  an* 
his  horse  killed,  and  can  the  doctor  go  back 
with  me?" 

"My  God!"  thought  Grafton  ere  he  spoke 
aloud.  "  Is  there  to  be  no  end  to  the  calami- 
ties of  this  day?"  Repressing  his  own  eager- 
Bass,  he  waited  in  stern  self-discipline  while 
tHe  adjutant  went  quickly  into  details,  as  was 


•I*  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

his  business,  in  striving  to  learn  the  extent 
and  nature  of  Merriam's  wounds;  then,  the 
colonel  being  over  home,  turned  for  advice  to 
Graf  ton. 

"Only  our  contract  doctor  left,"  he  said. 
"The  others  are  off  with  the  Riflers  or— in 
chase."  Hurriedly  he  wrote  a  few  lines  to 
Buxton  and  then  turned  to  McGrath. 

"  Tell  Captain  Graf  ton  about  these  messages 
for  Mr.  Merriam,  will  you?"  said  he,  "and 
captain,  will  you  please  attend  to  that  while  I 
look  to  Randy's  relief?  Thank  God  they 
didn't  kill  him,"  he  added  as  he  went  noisily 
out.  "What  in  heaven's  name  did  Buxton 
expect  him  to  do,  anyhow?" 

"  Have  you  a  right  to  say  what  is  wanted  of 
Mr.  Merriam  and  whom  these  are  from?"  asked 
Grafton  of  the  operator. 

"I  couldn't  say  a  word,  sir,  ordinarily,  but  I 
believe  they'll  never  blame  me  now.  It's  a 
Mr.  Edward  Parry  and  he  begs  Mr.  Merriam, 
who  can  get  through,  to  come  up  beyond  Cim- 
arron  to  him  on  important  business  —  his 
train's  blockaded  by  strikers." 

"Give  me  a  blank,"  said  Grafton  quickly, 


n 


f  to  scatter  my  medical  staff  to  the  Jour 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  213 

"I  think  I  partially  understand  the  case,"  and 
these  were  the  words  that  were  wired  at  one 
o'clock  to  the  eager  lawyer  on  the  waiting  train : 

"  Merriam   wounded  in  affair  with  bandits 
this  morning — miles  from  post.     Mrs.  McLane 
is  still  under  my  roof.     Command  my  services. 
"George  Graf  ton,  Captain." 

Then  Grafton  followed  the  trail  of  the  ad- 
jutant — went  straightway  to  Buxton,  who  was 
taking  his  noonday  siesta  and  hated  to  be  dis- 
turbed at  such  a  time  and  was  crusty,  as  could 
be  expected,  when  asked  permission  by  Cap- 
tain Grafton  to  ride  out  and  meet  the  wounded 
officer.  He  flew  into  a  tantrum. 

"My  God,  sir!  No,  sir.  Am  I  to  scatter 
my  medical  staff  to  the  four  winds,  with  Brady 
and  Corcoran  past  praying  for  here,  and  then 
have  my  troop  leaders  scattering  too!  The 
Lord  only  knows  what's  going  to  happen  be- 
fore we  get  through  "with  this  day,  and  now 
Merriam 's  shot  and  otherwise  injured,  and  all 
on  account  of  those  beggarly  greasers.  No, 
sir!  Not  another  man  goes  out  till  we've 
rounded  up  those  already  afield." 


214  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

Captain  Grafton  turned  without  a  word  ot 
remonstrance,  with  his  usual  grave  salute. 
From  there  he  went  to  see  that  Merriam's 
home  was  in  readiness,  and  then  to  his  wife, 
who  read  tidings  of  new  disaster  in  his  troubled 
eyes. 

"  Oh,  George !"  she  cried.  "  Will  this  dread- 
ful  day  never  end?  The  servants  say  Mer- 
riam's shot  and  mortally  wounded,  and  that 
the  Riflers  are  wrecked  at  Calamas  Gorge " 

"  Merriam  is  shot  and  not  mortally  wounded, 
dear,  and  the  Riflers  refused  to  be  wrecked  at 
Calamas  Gorge.  Where  is  Mrs.  McLane? 
Has  she  heard  ?" 

"  Dozing  placidly  in  her  room — too  much 
shaken  to  come  down -stairs  to-day.  Had  her 
coffee  and  her  luncheon  in  bed,  and  I  gave 
Annette  positive  orders  to  let  her  know  noth- 
ing about — Florence,  -and  she  hasn't.  But 
presently,  when  she  dresses  for  the  afternoon 
and  comes  down  and  hears  about  Randy? 
What  then?" 

"Still  sleeping,  is  she?"  asked  Grafton? 
ignoring  for  a  moment  the  question  as  to  what 
might  happen  when  their  guest  awoke  and 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  *I5 

heard  the  news.  "  Yet  I  think  you  said  she 
was  greatly  excited  after  getting  that  second 
dispatch  and  had  been  dreadfully  nervous." 

"  She  certainly  was  for  some  hours,  and  you 
know  she  walked  and  tossed  last  night  after 
she  came  up-stairs.  Then  she  seemed  to  fall 
into  a  deep  sleep,  and  Annette  said  she  could 
hardly  arouse  her  for  her  coffee  this  morning." 

Grafton  tugged  at  his  mustache  and  gave 
himself  over  to  deep  thought  a  few  minutes, 
Mrs.  Grafton  anxiously  watching  his  face. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  starting  up,  and,  as  it  were, 
shaking  himself  together,  "let  her  have  her 
sleep  out.  I  fancy  more  news  is  on  the  road ; 
I  know  her  lawyer  is." 

"Why!  Mr.  Parry?— her  brother-in-law?" 

"The  very  same,  Harriet,  and  his  train  is 
side-tracked  by  strikers  miles  above  Cimar- 
ron.  There  are  three  dispatches  from  him  foi 
Randy  now." 

Mrs.  Grafton  was  silent  a  moment,  as  she 
stood  by  his  side  looking  up  into  his  thought- 
ful face,  as  though  seeking  there  the  solution 
of  the  questions  that  puzzled  1ier.  Then, 
dusting  away  with  her  finger-tips  some  flakes 


AN  ARMY 

of  cigar-ashes  that  clung  to  the  breast  of  the 
captain's  undress  coat,  she  ventured: 

"There  are  two  things  I  can't  understand. 
If  he's  her  lawyer  why  he  should  be  wiring  to 
Randy  and  not  to  her,  and  why  it  is  the  strik- 
ers  don't  cut  the  wires  if  they  want  to  cut  off 
all  business." 

His  broad,  brown  hand  patted  caressingly 
the  taper,  white  fingers  toying  about  the  little 
toggle  of  his  watch-chain,  as  he  looked  down 
into  her  anxious,  upturned  face. 

"  His  letters  to  Fan  have  been  unanswered 
and  he  probably  expects  her  to  pay  as  little  at- 
tention to  his  dispatches.  As  for  the  wires, 
they  are  more  necessary  to  the  strikers  in  their 
combinations  than  to  anybody  else,  otherwise 
they'd  have  cut  them  long  ago — ah,  here 
comes  our  messenger  now." 

And  sure  enough  the  orderly  trumpeter 
came  trotting  up  the  steps,  the  usual  brown 
envelope  in  his  hand. 

Mrs.  Graf  ton  eagerly  watched  her  husband 
as  he  read.  "I  thought  so,"  said  he,  looking 
quietly  up.  "  Read  that,"  and  handed  her  the 
dispatch. 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  217 

"  To  Captain  Grafton,  Fort  Sedgwick. 

"  Thanks  for  your  courtesy.  'Shocked  to  hear 
of  Merriam's  mishap.  Mrs.  McLane  should 
have  met  me  in  Denver  three  days  ago.  Must 
be  ready  moment  road  opens. 

"EDWARD  PARRY." 

Three  hours  later,  just  as  the  ladies  and 
children  began  to  appear  in  their  fresh  after- 
noon toilets  and  the  baby  carriages  and  nurses 
were  in  force  along  the  gravel  walk,  and  the 
band  was  assembling  for  its  daily  concert  on 
the  parade,  a  vision  of  womanly  loveliness, 
albeit  garbed  in  sombre  black,  came  smilingly 
down  the  stairs  at  Graf  ton's  and  rustling  out 
to  shower  gracious  welcome  on  the  little  group 
of  ladies  and  officers  on  the  front  piazza. 
Some  of  the  men  were  seated — Whittaker  and 
Minturn  notably  being  nearest  the  door — others 
sunning  themselves  out  along  the  fence,  while 
the  ladies  occupied  their  camp-chairs  or  the 
steps  as  best  pleased  their  fancy.  Graf  ton's 
was  always  a  popular  rendezvous  on  the  cavalry 
side,  and  to-day  the  assembly  was  more  nu- 
merous than  usual,  and  anybody  but  Fanny  Me- 


2l8  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

Lane  could  not  have  failed  to  note  h.ow  deep 
was  the  shadow  that  overspread  every  face, 
how  sombre  and  mirthless  the  tenor  of  the  talk. 
Intent  only  on  charming,  she  came  trippingly 
forth,  bestowing  a  white  hand  on  the  red- 
striped  Minturn,  who  was  prompt  to  seize  it, 
and  smiles  and  nods  and  chirrups  upon  every- 
body. The  men  who  had  risen  and  doffed 
their  caps  did  not  retake  their  seats,  for  a 
trumpeter  was  sounding  a  stable  call,  and 
Whittaker  murmured  with  telling  effect,  "  You 
never  come  now  until  you  know  we  have  to 
go;"  and  there  was  a  slow  and  somewhat  re- 
luctant start,  the  rival  subs  hanging  on  to  the 
last.  Graf  ton,  usually  the  promptest  of  troop 
leaders,  went  as  far  as  his  gate  only  and  there 
said  in  a  low  tone  to  his  own  subaltern,  "  Tell 
Colonel  Buxton  I  am  detained  a  few  minutes 
on  important  personal  business,"  and  let  the 
group  go  sauntering  out  into  the  sunshine 
without  him.  The  band  was  gayly  crashing 
through  the  spirited  measures  of  the  "  Liberty 
Bell."  Major  Freeman,  straddling  down  the 
row  in  chase  of  the  troop  officers,  glanced  up 
and  smiled  and  waved  his  hand. 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  tl* 

*  The  Riflers  put  a  head  on  that  Cimarrea 
strike  in  short  order,  didn't  they?"  said  he. 
"  The  news  has  just  come  —  trains  running  to- 


morrow." 


Out  on  the  sunlit  mesa  a  mile  away  a  dusty 
little  cortdge  came  slowly,  wearily  trooping 
homeward,  bearing  a  wounded  officer  to  the 
longed-for  shelter  of  his  home  ;  and  Graf  ton, 
with  still  another  of  those  fateful  brown  en- 
velopes in  his  hand,  bent  over  and  interrupted 
the  lovely  widow  in  the  midst  of  her  animated 
chat  with  the  ladies  from  next  door. 

"Pardon  me  one  minute,  Mrs.  McLane,"  he 
said.  "Some  rather  urgent  dispatches  came 
while  you  were  sleeping,  and  this  has  just 
reached  me.  If  you  can  spare  a  moment  to 
glance  over  them  I  will  have  the  answers 
sent.  Suppose  we  step  inside." 

It  was  wonderful  with  what  suddenness 
gladness  and  gayety  would  vanish  from  her 
eyes,  leaving  there  only  a  hunted,  haggard 
look  ;  so,  too,  in  the  lines  about  the  sensitive 
mouth;  yet  the  soft,  creamy  tint  of  the  fair 
skin  remained  unchanged,  as  did  the  gentle 
color.  Mutely  she  arose  and  followed  kiin, 


220  AN  ARMY   WIFE, 

and,  the  parlor  being  in  the  shade  and  too 
near  the  party  on  the  porch,  he  led  on  to  the 
bright  dining-room  whose  windows  com- 
manded a  view  of  the  sunshiny  mesa.  There 
he  turned. 

"  Mr.  Parry  wires  me  that  he  had  expected 
you  in  Denver  three  days  ago,  and  that  your 
affairs  demand  that  you  should  go  thither  the 
moment  the  road  is  open — which  will  be  to- 
morrow. He  says  he  has  vainly  tried  to  get 
an  answer  to  his  letters  to  you,  and  that  no 
reply  came  to  his  dispatches.  Can  I  be  of  any 
service,  Mrs.  McLane?  This  seems  most 
urgent,  and,  pardon  me,  I  believe  it  my  duty 
to  point  out  to  you  that  your  friends  are  ren- 
dered powerless  by  your  own  neglect  to  act." 

"I  did  try,"  she  faltered.  "I  had  to  see 
Mr.  Merriam."  She  made  a  piteous  picture, 
looking  up  there  into  his  stern,  soldierly  face. 

"But,  pardon  me  again,  I  cannot  see,  know- 
ing nothing  of  the  nature  of  this — litigation, 
what  Mr.  Merriam  has  to  do  with  it.  Is  his 
testimony  necessary?  Is  that  why  Mr.  Parry 
has  been  urging  him  all  day  to  come  up  to 
Cimarron?" 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  Ml 

"He — fee,  too — he  has  been  wiring  for — 
Randy?"  she  faltered,  her  eyes  big  with  some 
new  dread.  "  Did  he  go?  Has  he  gone?" 

"He  couldn't  go,  Mrs.  McLane.  He  was 
sent  in  pursuit  of  Mexican  ruffians  last  night, 
and  was  shot  and  severely-  wounded  in  the 
fight  this  morning.  Look!  They're  bringing 
him  in  now." 

And  for  the  second  time  within  the  week 
Fanny  McLane  went  senseless  in  a  second,  a 
limp  and  nerveless  heap  upon  the  floor.  They 
had  to  carry  her  to  her  room,  and  Grafton  was 
the  burden  bearer;  and  then,  having  laid  her 
upon  her  bed,  and  while  the  women  were  bus- 
tling about  with  the  usual  restoratives,  he 
stopped  one  moment  before  her  profusely  lit- 
tered toilet-table.  A  little  case,  half -hidden 
among  the  mess,  unerringly  caught  his  eye. 
He  took  it,  touched  the  spring,  gave  one  quick 
glance  at  the  dainty,  delicate  instruments  and 
phials  inside,  and  replaced  it,  with  the  quiet 
remark,  "I  thought  so." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

BUT  Grafton  had  graver  work  ahead,  and  it 
was  close  at  hand.  Punctilious  soldier  that  he 
was,  he  would  leave  no  loophole  for  the  pos- 
sible criticism  of  a  superior.  Hurriedly  writ- 
ing a  few  lines  to  Colonel  Buxton  notifying 
him  that  the  wagon  bringing  Merriam  was  now 
close  to  the  garrison,  and  that,  as  arranged 
between  them,  he  would  meet  it  at  the  gate,  he 
sent  the  note  by  his  servant  and  hastened  up 
the  row  to  the  angle  formed  by  the  south  and 
west  fronts,  where  an  opening  had  been  left  in 
the  fence  for  the  convenience  of  riding  parties ; 
and  it  was  through  this  gap  that  poor  Randy 
was  presently  trundled  and  then  down  along 
the  line  to  his  own  doorway.  By  this  time  the 
pain  in  his  strained  and  stiffened  leg  was  in- 
tense, while  the  arm,  hurriedly  but  skilfully 
dressed  when  far  afield,  was  troubling  him  but 
little.  His  one  thought  all  the  way  had  been 


.     AN  ARMY   WIFL  2*3 

for  Florence.  He  had  insisted  on  scribbling1 
her  a  little  note  before  they  reached  the  Santa 
Clara,  just  to  tell  her  he  was  all  right ;  that 
there  was  nothing  to  worry  about,  and  all  he 
needed  was  a  few  days  of  her  nursing.  The 
doctor  gave  it  to  one  of  the  men  and  gravely 
bade  him  ride  ahead  and  give  it  to  Mrs. 
Merriam,  and  the  trooper  had  duly  handed  it 
in  at  the  door,  where  Hop  Ling  received  it 
with  his  customary  grin,  and  stowed  it. away 
on  the  mantel  in  the  now  deserted  parlor  where 
notes  and  cards  had  generally  been  displayed 
for  the  eyes  of  the  young  mistress. 

And  now  as  they  neared  the  familiar  spot, 
poor  Randy  would  sit  up.  It  would  never  do 
to  come  before  her  eyes  prostrated  as  though 
sorely  hurt.  Anything  to  spare  her  needless 
shock  or  worry.  He  even  essayed  a  semi- 
jocular  "  How  are  you,  old  man?"  as  he  caught 
sight  of  Grafton,  and  tried  a  smile  and  a  wave 
of  his  hand  to  the  ladies  who  appeared  on  the 
southernmost  porch  of  the  infantry  lines. 

"Why,  you  look  as  though  you'd  had  a 
worse  tussle  than  I,  captain, "he  laughed  pain- 
fully, as  he  held  out  his  hand.  "  How  is  Flor- 


t»4  AN  ARMY  WtFt. 

ence?  It  hasn't  frightened  her  much,  has  it? 
I  hope  Mrs.  Hayne's  been  with  her." 

"  She's  been  a  good  deal  troubled,  of  course." 
answered  Graf  ton,  gravely,  "but — but  Mrs. 
Hayne  is — bringing  her  round  all  right,  I 
think.  How  are  you,  old  man  ?  You  did  have 
a  ride!" 

But  now  Randy  was  peering  out  along  the 
row — their  own  row.  Women  were  to  be 
seen  here  and  there  along  the  verandas,  gaz- 
ing sympathetically  toward  the  slowly  moving 
party,  but  no  feminine  form  was  visible  on  the 
piazza  of  his  little  home. 

"Better  lie  back,  Mr.  Merriam,"  urged  the 
doctor.  "Try  to  make  him  do  so,"  he  mur- 
mured to  Grafton.  "We've  got  to  get  him 
quiet  in  his  room  before  we  let  him  know  any- 
thing.'* Already  the  anxious  young  physician 
had  been  told  that  Mrs.  Merriam  was  probably 
fifty  miles  away,  and  his  soul  was  wrung  at 
the  thought  of  what  that  would  mean  to  his 
patient. 

"Yes,  lie  down,  Randy,  till  we  get  you  in- 
doors," urged  Grafton.  *  We've  had  to  put 
up  a  game  on  Mrs.  Randy — (God  forgive  me 


AN  ARMY    WIFE.  fft$ 

the  lie,"  he  prayed).  "  Knowing  how  anxious 
you  were  and  we  were  lest  she  should  be 
shocked,  we — kept  her  away.  Mrs.  Hayne  and 
Dr.  Gould  are  looking  out  for  her.  She's  not 
to  be  allowed  to  come  near  you  till  we  get  you 
safe  and  sound  and  bathed  and  all  fixed  up  in 
bed.  Of  course  we  know  now,  Randy — we 
didn't  before,  but  Mrs.  Hayne  had  to  tell  my 
wife  how  careful  we  have  to  be  of  her— -now, 
and  really,  old  boy,  she  oughtn't  to  see  you 
till  you're  washed  and  dressed.  You  look 
tough,  Randy." 

And  though  the  face  he  longed  to  see  as 
they  bore  him  up  the  steps  was  miles  and 
miles  away,  Merriam  stifled  his  own  disap- 
pointment and  bravely  thanked  them.  "God 
bless  you  and  Mrs.  Grafton!  That  was,  indeed 
thoughtful  of  you,  old  boy,"  he  gasped,  for 
pain  was  wrenching  him,  and  he  gave  a  long, 
long  sigh  of  relief  when  at  last  he  was  lifted 
from  the  stretcher  to  a  bed  in  the  spare  room. 

But  that  sigh  was  a  faint  whisper  as  com- 
pared with  the  long,  long  breath  that  Grafton 
drew,  as  he  sat  him  down  in  the  adjoining 
reom  and  mopped  his  streaming  forehead. 


AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

Colonel  Buxton  and  others — all  the  officers, 
almost — felt  bound  to  come  to  the  house  be- 
tween stables  and  retreat,  just  to  see  how 
Randy  was  getting  on,  but  the  answer  was  the 
same  to  one  and  all.  No  one  was  to  be  ad- 
mitted, for  the  doctor  was  "  trying  to  get  him 
to  sleep." 

And  surely  enough,  bathed,  refreshed,  his 
arm  set  and  dressed,  Randy  soon  found  him- 
self stowed  away  in  a  soft,  white  bed,  but  oh, 
so  weak  and  drowsy  after  all  the  labor  of  the 
chase  and  the  long,  long  day  of  racking  pain. 
They  were  to  bring  Florence  to  him  now,  his 
wife,  his  darling,  impatiently  waiting  for  the 
summons,  as  he  thought  her,  at  Mrs.  Hayne's, 
and  he  was  stretching  out  his  arms  to  her — 
his  one  available  arm,  rather,  and  fondly  mur- 
muring her  name,  when  the  weary  eyelids 
closed  and,  numb  and  impotent,  he  drifted 
away  into  deep,  deep  slumber. 

"There,"  said  the  doctor,  at  last,  "he'll  do 
now!" 

"Aye,"  murmured  Graf  ton,  "but  what  will 
the  waking  be  if  there's  no  Florence  here  to- 


morrow." 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  2*7 

That  was  an  anxious  night  at  Sedgwick. 
Merriam  slept  like  the  dead,  and  twice  the 
young  doctor  feared  it  might  be  necessary  to 
rouse  him,  thinking  that  perhaps  he  had  sent 
that  tiny  shot  of  his  hypodermic  syringe  with 
too  heavy  a  charge.  But  so  long  as  Randy  was 
ignorant  of  his  wife's  mad  escapade  he  would 
have  slept  through  sheer  exhaustion  and 
weariness,  and  his  physician  need  not  have 
troubled  himself.  Twice  Grafton  tiptoed  in, 
and  the  hospital  attendant  arose  at  his  coming 
and  reported  that  the  patient  had  not  stirred. 

Over  at  Grafton's  quarters,  however,  they 
had  to  deal  with  a  less  tractable  creature. 
Fanny  McLane  had  roused  from  her  swoon 
and  was  nervously,  excitably,  irritably  wide 
awake,  demanding  actually  to  be  allowed  to 
see  Mr.  Merriam.  Even  Annette  was  sent  out 
of  the  room  and  Mrs.  Grafton  had  her  friend 
and  guest  to  herself,  and  her  tears  and  pray- 
ers, her  reproaches  and  imprecations,  fell  on 
hardened  ears.  Mrs.  Grafton  was  adamant. 

"It  is  mad  folly  to  talk  of  such  a  thing, 
Fanny,"  she  replied  to  every  assault.  "Mr. 
Merriam  is  far  too  severely  injured  tr  see  any- 


228  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

body,  much  less  you,  who  would  importune 
him  for  your  own  selfish  purposes.  Captain 
Grafton  says  the  doctor  has  forbidden  him  to 
everybody,  and  he  knows.  In  the  morning 
Captain  Grafton  will  see  him  for  you,  if  the 
doctor  will  permit." 

Whereat  the  widow  only  stormed  the  more 
and  declared,  with  hysteric  tears,  that  they 
were  keeping  her  away  from  Randy  Merriam 
out  of  spite  and  hatred  just  at  the  most  critical 
time.  "He'll  die,  he'll  die,"  she  cried,  "and 
carry  my  one  safeguard  with  him  to  the  grave." 

Sorely  puzzled,  Mrs.  Grafton  had  to  leave 
her  once  in  a  while  for  a  few  minutes  at  a 
time  to  consult  her  husband,  who  could  fre- 
quently be  heard  moving  about  the  parlor  or 
going  quickly  in  and  out  of  the  house.  It  was 
plain  that  Grafton  was  troubled  about  some- 
thing besides  Randy,  and  at  eleven  o'clock  the 
explanation  came. 

Up  to  sundown  Florence — Mrs.  Merriam — 
had  not  been  seen  or  heard  of  at  Jose's  ranch. 

One  of  the  trailers,  Rafferty  by  name,  de- 
clared that  Mignon's  tracks  turned  suddenly 
to  the  northward  and  led  away  from  the  ranch 


X  J,'!* 


\ 


AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

and  into  the  maze  of  foothills  to  the  right  of 
the  cantonment  trail.  At  sundown  they  had 
reached  Jose's,  still  hoping  against  hope  that 
she  would  be  there,  but  no  sign  of  her  had 
been  seen,  and,  borrowing  a  fresh  horse, 
Rafferty  started  back  to  Sedgwick  at  the 
gallop  to  carry  the  news.  He  met  the  doctor 
with  Mrs.  Hayne  only  a  short  distance  from 
Jose's,  and  they  went  on  to  the  ranch  hoping 
for  better  tidings,  but  bade  him  ride  for  Sedg- 
wick with  all  speed.  Rafferty  could  ride  week 
in  and  week  out  if  the  horse  could  stand  it, 
and  Jose's  broncho  was  a  used-up  quadruped 
by  the  time  they  reached  the  Santa  Clara. 
There  he  turned  him  into  a  ranchman's  corral 
and  borrower?  another,  never  stopping  to  say 
"  by  your  leave,  sir. "  This  was  on  the  Queen 's 
service  in  Rafferty 's  mind,  and  no  man's 
property  was  sacred  when  "Miss  Florence's" 
life  was  involved.  Buxton  was  up  and  about 
when  the  courier  came,  and  in  ten  minutes  had 
reached  the  office  and  sent  for  Grafton.  What 
he  wished  to  know  was,  had  she  any  reason 
whatever  for  turning  away  from  the  beaten 
track  and  taking  to  the  unknown  regions  off 


ARMY   Witt, 

the  road  and  far  to  the  northwest  of  the  settle- 
ments?  Graf  ton  knew  of  none.  There  was 
indeed  grave  reason  why  she  should  not. 

For  fifty  miles  northward  the  Santa  Clara 
twined  and  twisted  through  a  fairly  fertile 
valley,  once  the  herding-grotmd  of  the  Nava- 
jos, now  wild  and  almost  unsettled.  Ameri- 
cans and  Mexicans  both  had  tried  it  as  a  stock 
range,  but  American  cattle  and  American 
horses  demanded  a  better  quality  of  grass  and 
more  of  it  than  would  serve  the  stomach  of  the 
Indian  pony.  Treaty  obligations  sent  the 
Navajos  farther  into  the  mountains  to  the 
northwest — beyond  the  Mescalero — but  there 
were  restless  roamers  who  were  constantly  off 
the  reservation,  sometimes  on  pass  but  oftener 
on  mischief,  and  on  the  pretext  of  trading 
they  came  recklessly  as  far  as  the  settlement, 
and  then  somebody's  horses  were  sure  to 
be  missing,  spirited  away  into  the  foothills, 
whither  it  was  almost  useless  to  follow,  The 
Navajos  said  the  Mexicans  were  the  thieves, 
the  Mexicans  declared  them  to  be  the  Navajos, 
and  when  both  parties  were  caught  and  ac- 
cused, with  prompt  unanimity  both  announced 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  231 

tnat  Apaches  must  again  be  raiding,  and  the 
name  of  Apache  covered  a  multitude  of  sins. 
Time  was  when  Victorio  and  Nana  led  the 
cavalry  some  glorious  chases  into  the  Mes- 
calero,  but  both  those  redoubtables  had  met 
their  fate,  and  agency  officials  across  the 
Arizona  line  were  ready  to  swear  that  none  of 
their  once  intractable  followers  ever  thought  of 
quitting  corn  and  melon  planting  kor  the  for- 
bidden joys  of  the  raid  and  the  warpath.  All 
the  same  the  foothills  and  the  valley  far  to  the 
northwest  of  the  settlements  were  full  of 
mystery  and  danger — the  roaming-ground  of 
the  horse-thief  and  the  renegade,  and  Mer- 
rianf  s  men,  just  in  from  their  long  chase, 
pointed  out  how  the  Mexican  ruffians,  though 
starting  originally  toward  the  southwest,  had 
in  long  wide  circuit  gradually  worked  their 
way  northward,  as  though  making  for  this 
very  region.  The  leader  of  the  gang  that 
shot  Brady  and  Corcoran  was  a  fellow  by  the 
name  of  Ramon  Valdez,  and  there  was  no  dev- 
iltry too  steep  for  him.  The  news,  therefore, 
that  Florence  Merriam  had  not  reached  Jose"st 
but  that  her  trail  was  lost  somewhere  among 


232  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

the  buttes  and  bowlders  four  miles  to  the  east- 
ward of  that  frontier  refuge,  struck  dismay  to 
the  hearts  of  her  friends  at  Sedgwick.  The 
tidings  went  from  lip  to  lip,  from  house  to 
house,  like  wildfire,  and  by  midnight  an  entire 
troop  had  ridden  forth  with  their  ever-ready 
three  days'  rations,  and  with  Captain  George 
Grafton  in  command,  and  their  orders  were 
not  to  return  without  Mrs.  Merriam  or  definite 
news  of  her. 

Mrs.  Grafton  let  her  husband  go  only  with 
deep  reluctance.  He  was  very  necessary  to 
her  now.  She  felt  the  need  of  his  support  in 
the  management  of  her  truculent  patient.  She 
had  to  leave  the  latter  while  assisting  him  in 
his  busy  preparations,  and  she  was  surprised 
and  rejoiced  to  see  that  on  her  return  to  her 
Fanny  had  become  far  more  calm  and  resigned. 
The  ladies  in  many  households  were  still  up 
and  flitting  about  the  post,  tearfully,  fore- 
bodingly discussing  the  situation,  and  several 
of  them  had  dropped  in  to  speak  a  word  with 
Mrs.  Grafton — Whittaker  and  Minturn  being 
sver  on  the  alert  to  escort  such  parties — and 
so  it  was  long  after  one — Indeed,  it  was  nearly 


AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

two  o'clock — when  at  last,  after  a  final  peep  at 
her  now  placidly  sleeping  guest  and  leaving 
Annette  curled  up  on  the  sofa  by  her  mistress* 
bedside,  Mrs.  Grafton  finally  sought  her  own 
pillow  and  slept  long  into  the  sunshine  of  the 
following  day. 

Awakening  with  a  start  at  the  sound  of 
stirring  music  on  the  parade,  she  found  that 
it  was  after  eight  and  guard  mounting  was  in 
full  blast.  Summoning  a  servant,  her  first 
question  was  for  news  of  Mrs.  Merriam,  for 
servants  always  know  the  garrison  news  be- 
fore their  masters.  Not  a  word  had  been  re- 
ceived. Presently  she  tiptoed  to  Fanny's 
room,  softly  turned  the  knob,  and  noiselessly 
entered.  There  lay  her  guest  still  plunged  in 
deep  slumber,  but  Annette  had  disappeared, 
gone,  probably,  to  the  kitchen  for  coffee.  Far 
over  at  the  east,  where  the  railway  crossed«the 
barren  mesa,  a  locomotive  whistle  broke  the 
silence  of  the  desert  with  long,  exultant  blast. 
The  blockade  then  was  broken.  The  first 
train  was  coming  in  from  Cimarron.  Dressing 
with  greater  haste  than  usual,  she  ordered 
breakfast  served,  and  then  went  out  on  the 


234  AW  ARMY   W1FR. 

piazza  and  looked  tip  the  row  toward  the 
Merriams'.  The  doctor  was  just  coming  out 
of  the  gate,  and  Whittaker,  who  had  spent  the 
night  there  on  watch — all  thought  of  rivalry 
forgotten — was  standing  on  the  top  step,  ap- 
parently detaining,  the  physician  with  some 
question.  Eager  for  news  of  Randy,  Mrs, 
Grafton  threw  her  "husband's  cavalry  cape  over 
her  shoulders  and  tripped  briskly  up  the  gravel 
walk.  "Still  sleeping,"  said  the  doctor,  "and 
how  is  your  patient  >" 

"Also  sleeping,"  said  Mrs.  Grafton.  "I 
don't  see  how  people  can  sleep  so  soundly  at 
such  times,"  whereat  the  doctor  looked  con- 
scious but  said  nothing. 

All  that  morning  people  strained  their  eyes 
And  rubbed  their  binoculars  and  searched  the 
distant  foothills  to  the  northwest,  hoping  for 
the  coming  of  couriers  with  news;  but  not 
until  afternoon  were  they  rewarded.  Then, 
covered  with  sweat  and  dust,  a  corporal  of 
Graf  ton's  troop  rode  in.  Dr.  Gould  and  Mrs. 
Hayne  were  still  at  Jose's,  though  they  feared 
they  could  be  of  no  use  there,  for  not  a  sign 
of  Florence  had  he.e.n  found  Grafton  had 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  235 

seat  couriers  on  to  the  Catamount  with  the 
tidings  of  her  peril,  and  his  men,  in  wide  dis- 
persed order,  were  scouring  the  foothills  long 
days'  marches  away.  Full  half  an  hour  the 
ladies  grouped  at  Buxton's,  listening  to  the 
soldiers'  description  of  their  search,  and  then 
were  strolling  homeward  when,  over  toward 
the  west  end  of  the  cavalry  line,  arose  the 
sound  of  commotion  and  distress. 

An  instant  later,  as  the  doctor,  blanching, 
turned  to  hasten  thither,  a  woman  dressed  in 
deepest  black  came  reeling  forth  from  the 
Merriams'  doorway  and  plunging  wildly  down 
the  steps.  Every  one  knew  her  at  a  glance — 
it  was  Fanny  McLane,  who  stood  there  now 
swaying  at  the  gate  as  though  gasping  for 
breath,  while  calling  inarticulately  for  aid. 
It  was  but  a  few  seconds  before  the  doc- 
tor reached  her.  They  saw  him  accost  her 
briefly,  then  go  springing  past  her  up  the 
steps  and  into  the  house.  A  moment  more 
and  Mrs.  Graf  ton,  with  other  women,  reached 
her. 

"  What  is  the  matter?    What  has  happened, 


236 

And  cowering,  sobbing,  shivering,  she  made 
answer: 

"Oh,  stop  him!  save  him!  He'll  kill  him. 
self.  I — told  him  his  wife  was  gone/1 

Too  late.  Out  to  the  stable  the  doctor 
chased,  for  bed  and  room  were  deserted. 
There,  wildly  gesticulating  and  pointing  to 
the  open  mesa,  was  Hop  Ling.  "  He  makee 
my  saddle — he  makee  lide — he  allee  gone!*' 
he  wailed,  pointing  to  where,  far  to  the  west,  a 
puff  of  dust-cloud  was  swiftly  vanishing  down 
into  the  valley  of  the  Santa  Clara. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

JUST  about  noon,  when  the  hospital  attend- 
ant was  away  at  dinner,  the  doctor  at  Buxton's 
and  Whittaker  getting  a  nap  after  his  night  of 
vigil,  only  Hop  Ling  was  on  duty  over  Randy. 
"  He'll  probably  sleep  until  late  in  the  after- 
noon," the  doctor  said,  when  he  looked  in  at 
eleven,  and  so  perhaps  he  might  have  done. 
Grafton  before  starting  had  taken  the  respon- 
sibility of  removing  Florence's  ominous  look- 
ing missive  and  placing  it  with  other  letters 
on  the  mantel  in  the  little  parlor.  He  could 
not  feel  justified  in  hiding  it  entirely.  He  felt 
that  when  Merriam  woke  the  truth  would  have 
to  be  told  him,  and  perhaps  Florence's  own 
words  might  best  explain  her  flight.  At  all 
events  Dr.  Leavitt  had  promised  to  be  on  hand 
to  see  that  the  news  was  not  too  abruptly 
broken,  and  Leavitt  counted  cm  a  long  sleep 
and  upon  subsequent  drowsiness  and  languor 

237' 


<jo  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

as  the  result  of  his  treatment.  No  one  had 
dreamed  of  the  possibility  of  such  rude  awak- 
ening as  came.  No  woman  in  her  right  senses 
would  have  ventured  on  the  mad-brained,  des 
perate  measure  resorted  to  by  Mrs.  McLane, 
What  she  hoped  to  learn,  what  she  expected 
to  gain,  what  papers  or  information  she  still 
believed  him  to  possess,  who  can  say?  The 
power  of  reasoning,  driven  from  her  by  the 
stupefying  drug  that  of  late  had  overmastered 
its  weak  and  willing  victim,  seemed  to  have 
utterly  gone,  leaving  in  its  place  only  some- 
thing of  the  craft  and  cunning  that  possess  the 
insane.  No  sooner  was  Mrs.  Grafton  out  of  the 
way  than,  rousing  suddenly,  Fanny  had  sum- 
moned Annette,  had  hastened  through  her 
toilet,  and,  barely  sipping  the  coffee  tendered 
her,  had  thrown  a  light  wrap  over  her  head  and 
shoulders  and  flitted  out  of  the  house,  out  past 
the  stable  at  the  rear,  and,  to  the  amaze  of  the 
sentry  on  No.  2,  had  scurried  away  along  the 
fence,  had  easily  located  the  Merriams'  gate, 
the  number  on  which  corresponded  with  that 
of  their  quarters,  and  in  another  moment  had 
let  herself  through  the  kitchen  and  dining-room 


AN  ARMY   IT//&  239 

and  into  the  little  parlor.  There  for  a  few 
moments  she  seemed  to  have  paused  and  re- 
connoitred. 

Of  what  followed  only  Randy  and  Hop  Ling 
were  witnesses.  The  latter  was  never  able  to 
explain  it,  if  indeed  he  ever  could  understand 
the  situation,  and  as  for  Randy  it  was  long  be- 
fore he  could  be  induced  to  speak  of  it  at  all. 
The  time  came  when  he  had  to,  however,  and 
it  can  be  told  now. 

He  was  half  asleep,  half  awake,  in  that 
helplessly  lethargic  state  that  seems  to  possess 
most  temperaments  after  subjection  to  the  in- 
fluence of  morphine.  He  was  conscious  of  no 
pain,  no  soreness,  conscious  of  nothing  but 
that  longing  for  the  coming  of  Florence  and  a 
wondering  as  to  the  time  of  night  or  day.  He 
remembered  half  opening  his  eyes  and  seeing 
Hop  blinking  in  an  easy-chair  by  the  bedside, 
and  then  he  noticed  that  it  was  in  the  spare 
room — the  guest  room — he  was  lying,  and  he 
thought  it  must  be  near  dawn,  for  the  shutters 
and  shades  were  drawn,  yet  a  dim  light  was 
shining  through.  He  thought  Florrie  must  be 
in  hor  room,  the  front  room,  and  he  was  just 


•4*  AN  ARMY   WIFR 

thinking  of  calling  to  the  servant  and  rousing 
him,  when  he  heard  the  swift  pit-a-pat  of  light 
footsteps  in  the  hall,  a  swish  of  skirts,  and, 
stretching  out  his  arm,  he  called  aloud,  "  Flor- 
ence, darling!"  and  the  next  minute  a  wo 
man's  form  was  at  his  bedside  and  he  started 
tip,  rubbing  his  eyes,  amazed,  startled,  believ- 
ing perhaps  that  he  was  still  dreaming,  for 
there,  with  trembling,  outstretched  hands, 
stood  Fanny  McLane. 

"  What — where  is  my  wife?*'  he  gasped.  "  I 
thought — why,  surely  this  cannot  be  you!" 

"It  is  I,  Randy,"  she  quavered.  "I  was  in 
torment — I  could  not  rest  nor  sleep.  I  knew 
you  were  alone,  with  no  one  to  care  for 
you." 

"Alone!"  he  interrupted.  "What  do  you 
mean?  Where  is  Florence,  my  wife?" 

"You  don't  mean — they  haven't  told  you?" 
she  answered.  "She  has  gone — home  to  her 
people,  it  is  supposed.  She  left  two  nights 
ago — that  is  one  reason  I  am  here." 

But  Merriam  burst  in  upon  her  wailing,  hail 
incoherent  words.  "  In  God's  name  what  do 
you  mean?  You  or  I  must  be  mad.  Here. 


ARMY  W1F&.  $*\ 

Hop,  quick!    Where  are  my  clothes?    Fetch 
them  at  once;  then  go  for  Captain  Graf  ton." 

"  I'm  not  mad,"  she  answered.  "  Read  this 
— the  letter  she  left  for  you,"  and  the  wretched 
woman  tossed  upon  the  bed  the  note  she  had 
taken  from  among  the  others  on  the  mantel, 
and,  shouting  for  a  light,  Merriam  tore  open 
the  envelope,  while  the  Chinaman,  nerveless 
and  obedient  to  the  master's  will,  threw  open 
the  shutters, 

In  the  next  minute  Randy  had  read  the 
page,  with  staring,  throbbing  eyes,  then  fairly 
ordered  her  from  the  room  and  dazed,  yet 
terrified  at  the  effect  of  her  announcement, 
she  crept  into  Florence's  room  and  threw  her-, 
self  into  a  chair,  moaning  and  rocking  to  and 
fro.  Like  a  madman  Merriam  was  up  and 
tearing  about,  issuing  rapid  orders  to  the  ser- 
vant, his  lameness  all  forgotten,  and  Hop, 
awed  and  dismayed,  dared  disobey  him  in 
nothing.  Quickly  he  dressed  his  master,  pull- 
ing  on  light  riding-breeches  and  leggings  in- 
stead of  the  cavalry  scouting-rig,  and  carefully 
drawing  a  hunting-shirt  over  the  crippled  arm 
that  in  its  sling  and  bandages  was  now  bound 


242  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

close  to  the  body.  It  seemed  to  take  no  time 
at  all  to  get  him  dressed,  yet  Merriam  fumed 
and  raged,  and  then  limped  forth  into  the  hall, 
bidding  Hop  go  saddle  Brown  Dick  at  once. 

At  sound  of  his  halting  footsteps  in  the 
hall,  she  had  once  more  roused  herself  to 
action,  her  own  weight  of  care  and  trouble 
urging  her  on.  "Randy,"  she  cried,  "for 
God's  sake  answer  me!  Are  you  sure — are 
you  sure — was  there  no  other  statement?  no 
other  paper?  Did  he  persist  to  the  last  that 
his  mother  was  alive?" 

"Mrs.  McLane,"  was  the  answer,  "you 
forced  me  to  tell  you  the  truth.  I  did  all  I 
could  to  keep  it — and  to  keep  myself  from  you, 
but  you  would  have  it.*' 

"Oh,  Randy,  Randy!"  she  cried.  "You 
are  heartless!  You  are  brutal,  vindictive' 
You  are  punishing  me  because  I  so  cruelly 
wronged  you.  But  what  did  I  ever  do  to  you 
compared  with  what  you  have  done  to  me? 
Oh,  why,  if  you  ever  loved  me,  why  could  you 
not  have  destroyed  that  lying  paper  tnat  is  to 
rob  me  of  my  name,  my  rights,  rob  me  of 
everything?" 


-Ita*  kM  t*m  thai  you  might  triumph  over  **y  rmi*. J 


243 

*Htish!n  be  answered,  leaning  heavily 
against  the  balustrade.  "I  rode  ni^ht  and 
day.  We  sent  the  swiftest  courier  we  had— 
to  save  your  honor — to  stop  that  marriage " 

"But  you  didn't  stop  it!  You  were  too 
late!'*  she  cried.  "And  when  you  saw  it  was 
too  late,  instead  of  burning  those  papers  or 
giving  them  to  me — you  held  them  that  you 
might  triumph  over  my  ruin.  Then  when 
you  knew  I  was  coming  to  beg  for  them,  you 
were  a  coward,  Randy — you  sent  them  all  to 
Ned  Parry,  that  my  own  sister  might  gloat 
over  my  downfall." 

"Mrs.  McLane,"  he  interrupted,  "this  is  all 
unjust,  all  untrue.  Ask  Mr.  Parry  when  he 
comes,  as  come  he  probably  will.  But  this 
ends  our  meetings.  God  forbid  that  I  should 
ever  see  you  alone  again !  It  has  driven  from 
me  my  wife — the  wife  I  love  and  love  devot- 
edly— do  you  hear? — and  I'm  going  now  to 
find  her." 

And  then  he  broke  away.  Out  to  the  stable 
he  staggered ;  love,  pity,  devotion  urging  him 
on  and  triumphing  over  the  still  numbing 
effect  of  the  deadening  drug  whose  languorous 


244  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

spell  he  had  never  known  before-  and  Brown 
Dick  whinnied  his  welcome  and  impatience 
and  Hop  Ling  whimpered  his  "  pidgin"  pro- 
tests, even  as  he  was  "cinching"  on  Merriam's 
field  saddle  with  its  well-stocked  pouches. 
Randy  fiercely  ordered  silence,  bade  the 
Chinaman  give  him  a  hand,  and  then,  with 
blurred  eyes  and  senses,  with  ears  still  drows- 
ily ringing,  he  slowly  climbed  into  saddle, 
hardly  missing  the  customary  grip  of  the  left 
hand  in  the  mane.  Then  out  he  rode  into  the 
sunshine,  Brown  Dick  bounding  with  eager- 
ness to  search  for  and  rejoin  his  stable  mate; 
and  then  with  every  stride  as  he  tore  away 
over  the  mesa  Randy  felt  the  cobwebs  brush- 
ing from  his  brain,  and  hope  and  determina- 
tion spurring  him  on.  "You  have  broken 
your  word  and  gone  to  your  old  love,"  was  the 
stern  message  of  Florence's  brief  letter.  "  I 
will  be  no  man's  fool,  no  faithless  husband's 
wife.  You  need  not  look  for  me  nor  follow, 
for  I  will  never  come  to  you  again." 

Another  time  pride,  anger,  and  sense  of 
wrong  might  have  held  his  hand,  but  not  now. 
And  before  that  half -crazed,  half -cringing  wo- 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  245 

man  could  give  the  alarm,  Randy  Merriam 
was  riding  fast  and  furious  to  join  the  pursuit, 
thinking  only  of  her  suffering  and  her  sorrow, 
all  ignorant,  mercifully,  of  the  new  peril  that 
involved  his  precious  wife. 

It  was  vain  for  Dr.  Leavitt  to  heap  impreca- 
tion on  the  head  of  that  hapless  Chinaman. 
Implicit  obedience  to  the  will  of  his  master 
was  the  only  creed  Hop  Ling  observed. 
"Mellium  say  dless  and  catchum  saddle  and 
flask  and  lunch" — that  was  enough.  "Mel- 
lium say  lide  an*  catchum  Missee  Mellium," 
and  Hop  Ling  wasn't  fool  enough  to  interfere. 

But  if  Dr.  Leavitt  had  lost  one  patient, 
Fate  had  provided  him  with  another.  He  was 
needed  at  once  at  Graf  ton's,  and,  tarrying 
only  long  enough  to  report  to  Buxton  the  es- 
cape of  Lieutenant  Merriam,  he  hastened  to 
the  bedside  of  Mrs.  McLane,  now  in  sore  need 
of  medical  attention. 

Harriet  Grafton  has  been  heard  to  say  that 
that  afternoon  and  the  night  that  followed 
made  her  ten  years  older,  but  her  looks  do 
not  warrant  the  statement.  Unquestionably 
she  had  a  hard  time,  and  might  have  had  a 


AN  ARMY   WIFS. 

much  harder  but  for  the  opportune  arrival  at 
the  post,  just  before  sundown,  of  the  lately 
blockaded  lawyer,  Mr.  Edward  Parry,  of  Chi- 
cago. 

Meantime,  utterly  broken  down  and  cut  off 
now,  for  the  first  time  since  her  marriage, 
from  the  soothing  and  comfort  of  the  perilous 
drug  to  the  use  of  which  she  had  become 
wedded  almost  from  the  hour  that  she  met 
McLane,  poor  self-absorbed  Fanny  was  pour- 
ing out  her  story  and  her  secret  in  almost  in- 
coherent ravings  to  her  hostess.  Dr.  Leavitt, 
who  had  suspected  the  cause  of  her  vagaries 
before,  was  confident  of  it  when  he  was  called 
in  to  prescribe,  and  quickly  found  the  dainty 
little  case  that  Grafton  had  discovered  the  day 
before.  It  was  hours  before  she  could  be  even 
measurably  quieted,  and  meantime  what  a  tale 
of  shame  and  woe  had  she  not  poured  into 
Harriet's  astonished  ears? 

Strained  from  its  ravings  and  incoherencies 
and  straightened  out  in  chronological  order, 
the  story  resolved  itself  into  this:  John  Har- 
old  McLane  was  a  Southern  sympathizer  as  a 
young  matt,  and  went  to  California  during  the 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  «47 

war,  provided  with  a  liberal  allowance  and  an 
opportunity  of  embarking  in  business.  At 
Sacramento  he  fell  into  the  clutches  of  a  no- 
torious household.  "Old  man  Perkins"  had 
three  handsome  daughters  and  a  scheming 
wife.  The  mother 's  aim  was  to  marry  those 
girls  to  wealthy  men,  and  she  had  succeeded 
as  to  two  of  them,  and  McLane  fell  a  victim 
to  the  plot  and  was  married  to  the  third.  A 
son,  John  H.,  Jr.,  was  born  to  them  in  June, 
'67,  and  trouble  of  every  kind  followed.  The 
sisters  had  quarrelled  with  their  respective 
lords,  one  of  whom  had  abandoned  his  wife 
and  gone  to  Japan,  while  the  other,  even  more 
desperate,  had  gone,  self-directed,  to  his 
grave.  McLane 's  home  people  refused  to  rec- 
ognize any  of  the  Perkins  stock  and  cut  off 
the  young  fellow's  allowance.  Old  man  Per- 
kins, therefore,  had  three  married  daughters 
and  one  son-in-law  on  his  hands,  and  pande- 
monium reigned  within  his  gates.  He  had 
to  order  the  eldest  daughter  out  of  the  house, 
and  she  revenged  herself  by  eloping  with  a 
man  who  deserted  wife  and  children  to  run 
away  with  this  magnificently  handsome  crea- 


248  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

ture,  a  thtyg  he  mourned  in  sackcloth  and 
ashes  until,  his  money  vanishing,  she  ran  off 
with  another  victim  and  left  him  poor  indeed, 
yet  vastly  better  off  than  when  he  had  her. 

McLane's  wife  was  the  best  of  the  three  in 
disposition,  but  that  was  saying  little,  and 
when  all  his  money  was  gone  they  fairly 
kicked  him  out  of  doors,  and  he,  in  despera- 
tion, drifted  to  Nevada  and  the  mines,  just  in 
the  days  when  colossal  fortunes  were  being 
made  by  men  who  were  wielding  pick  and 
shovel.  At  the  very  time  old  Perkins*  peo- 
ple were  trying  to  get  a  divorce,  alleging  de- 
sertion and  failure  to  support,  McLane  loomed 
up  at  Virginia  City  as  part  owner  of  a  lode 
that  paid  like  the  Comstock,  and  his  Sacra- 
mento wife,  who  was  believed  to  be  deeply  in 
love  with  a  steamboat  engineer,  proved  that  she 
wasn't  by  journeying  to  Virginia  City  with  her 
little  boy  and  reclaiming  her  now  prosperous 
husand.  There  they  lived  in  style,  and  the 
Perkins  household  came  to  visit  them  and  re- 
mained indefinitely,  until  the  bickering  drove 
McLane  mad  and  he  "skipped  to  'Frisco/' 
where  every  deal  he  made  in  the  stock  market 


Randy  Merriam. 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  94$ 

went  his  way,  and  he  became  a  millionaire 
before  he  was  thirty.  Again  his  pretty  but 
low-bred  wife  followed,  and  again  he  honestly 
tried  to  make  the  best  of  his  bargain ;  but  her 
mad  extravagance  and  the  ceaseless  incursions 
of  mother-  and  sister-in-law  were  too  much 
for  him.  One  day  there  came  a  crash  and 
much  of  his  fortune  was  swept  away.  He  had 
to  break  up  his  San  Francisco  home  and  go 
back  to  Virginia  City,  and  a  furious  quarrel  fol- 
lowed, in  which  he  ordered  the  Perkinses  never 
to  darken  his  doors  again,  and  lo!  his  wife  sided 
with  her  sister  and  elected  to  go  with  them  Me- 
Lane  would  gladly  have  parted  with  them  all,  but 
he  had  grown  to  love  his  boys.  When  once  more, 
a  year  later,  fortune  smiled  on  him,  and,  with  a 
new  bank  account,  he  came  down  to  San  Fran- 
cisco, the  Perkinses  had  disappeared.  Two  of  the 
sisters  were  living  the  lives  of  adventuresses.  Old 
Perkins  was  dead  and  buried,  and  no  one  knew 
where  the  rest  had  gone — a  host  of  Sacramento 
tradesmen  wished  they  could  find  out. 

Then     McLane      came     East,     bringing     his 
sheaves  with   him,  and  his  family  not   unnatu- 


9$0  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

rally  forgave  and  welcomed  him.  Prosperity 
followed  him.  He  fairly  coined  money,  and 
Uncle  Abe  Mellen  was  only  too  glad  to  have  him 
as  a  partner;  and  then  after  a  lapse  of  years, 
when  he  thought  her  dead  and  honestly  wished 
her  so,  his  blissful  bachelor  life  was  broken  in 
upon  by  the  reappearance  of  his  Sacramento 
wife,  now  a  handsome  woman  of  nearly  forty, 
and  a  stalwart  stripling  whom  he  recognized 
at  once  as  his  long-lost  son.  For  two  years 
he  provided  for  her  and  tried  to  educate  the 
boy,  but  never  again  acknowledged  her  as  his 
wife,  and  so  long  as  she  was  amply  paid  and 
housed,  lodged  and  cared  for,  she  never  pro- 
tested. Mac's  club  friends  sometimes  winked 
and  nudged  each  other  when  the  tall  young 
fellow  appeared  at  the  waiting-room  with  a 
letter,  or  when  occasionally  a  dashing-looking 
woman  patrolled  the  neighborhood  until  he 
would  come  out  and  join  her.  The  boy  was 
wild  and  wouldn't  study,  and  was  expelled 
from  the  schools  at  which  he  was  entered  by 
the  name  of  Perkins,  and  the  landlords  com- 
plained of  the  people  Mrs.  Perkins  received 
and  entertained ;  then  Mac  put  the  young  man 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  251 

in  Mellen's  bank,  and  there  he  was  when 
the  Hay  ward  nieces  came  back  from  Europe, 
and  Charlotte  married  Ned  Parry  and  Fan 
wished  to  marry  Merriam.  It  was  J.  H.  Mc- 
Lane,  Jr.,  who  did  Uncle  Abe's  work  for  him 
and  went  around  among  Merriam 's  creditors 
and  got  them  to  unite  in  their  complaint  to  the 
War  Department;  but  by  that  time  he  had 
seen  something  of  Randy,  had  "  taken  a  shine 
to  him,"  as  he  expressed  it,  and  when  he 
learned  that  Merriam  had  been  banished  to 
the  frontier  as  a  consequence  he  told  the  old 
man  that  he  was  done  with  that  sort  of  dirty 
work,  and  was  minded  to  go  and  confess  to 
Miss  Hay  ward  what  he  had  done.  To  buy  him 
off  Mellen  gave  him  all  the  .money  he  needed 
and  bade  him  go  and  live  the  life  he  always 
longed  to  live,  that  of  a  prospector  and  miner 
in  the  Sierras.  McLane,  the  father,  was  away 
and  had  been  away  for  several  months.  Mrs. 
McLane,  the  mother,  after  a  furious  quarrel 
with  her  protector  something  over  a  year  be- 
fore, had  agreed  to  return  to  California  and 
never  trouble  him  again  upon  payment  of  a 
big,  round  sum  in  cash.  She  would  not  listen 


252  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

to  a  pension,  and  the  story  that  came  to  the 

husband's  ears  soon  after  was  that  at  last  his 
Sacramento  wife  had  rewarded  the  fidelity  of 
her  old  friend,  the  steamboat  engineer;  but 
the  lawyers  sent  to  trace  the  matter  were  con- 
fronted by  unlooked-for  news — unwelcome 
news,  and  therefore  news  they  fully  investi- 
gated before  reporting,  since,  if  true,  it  would 
put  an  end  to  what  promised  to  be  a  most 
profitable  case.  That  twenty-five  thousand 
dollars  was  practically  wasted — Mrs.  John  H. 
McLane  was  dead. 

They  found  her  grave,  headstone  and  all, 
but  could  get  no  trace  of  her  long-devoted 
lover.  It  was  surmised  that  he  had  taken 
what  was  left  of. the  money  and  gone  else- 
where in  search  of  consolation.  McLane  came 
back  to  New  York,  met  Fanny  Hayward,  fell 
in  love,  and  Uncle  Mellen  urged  the  match  in 
every  way ;  and  we  know  the  result.  There 
was  a  fortnight  in  which  McLane  seemed  the 
happiest  of  men.  Then  came  a  shock.  Fanny 
found  him  nearly  crazed  with  trouble.  A  let- 
ter had  come  purporting  to  be  from  that  sup- 
posed-to-be-dead woman  demanding  further 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  253 

heavy  payment  as  the  price  of  her  silence. 
McLane  honestly  told  Fan  the  truth,  and 
was  astonished  at  her  decision.  She  bade 
him  "pay  the  money  and  have  done  with 
it." 

They  might  have  doubted  the  genuineness 
of  her  letter,  but  there  was  no  doubting  that 
of  young  McLane 's  dying  statement,  wit- 
nessed by  the  officers  from  Sedgwick.  He 
declared  his  mother  alive.  And  so  one  crime 
led  to  another.  No  sooner  had  they  reached 
California,  than  the  whole  Perkins  family 
seemed  resurrected,  and  blackmail  was  their 
business.  The  eldest  sister  demanded  heavy 
hush-money,  and  it  was  paid.  The  second 
sister  turned  up  with  her  husband  and  a  pre- 
posterous demand.  It  was  they  who  haunted 
him  at  the  San  Francisco  club,  and  the  man, 
drunk  and  triumphant,  insolently  demanding 
money  that  night,  had  fired  that  well-nigh 
fatal  shot  when  repudiated,  defied,  and 
struck.  The  very  next  day  at  their  hotel 
came  a  letter  warning  them  to  silence  as  to 
the  identity  of  the  assailants.  So  long  as 
these  latter  were  allowed  to  escape  arrest 


254  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

they  would  keep  the  secret,  but  if  arrested 
and  brought  to  trial  they  would  proclaim 
McLane  a  bigamist.  All  this  was  mad*- 
known  to  Uncle  Mellen>  and  he,  too,  backed 
the  niece's  cause  and  kept  up  the  deception. 
But  no  one  could  tell  where  the  first  wife  was 
hidden.  "  She  will  be  produced  when  needed, 
and  her  money  must  be  paid  through  her  sis- 
ter." The  money,  a  large  sum,  was  paid, 
and  then  there  was  temporary  peace.  But 
McLane  drooped  and  died  under  the  weight 
of  shame  and  anxiety.  There  was  quarrelling 
between  the  widow  and  the  guardian  and 
further  demands  from  those  cormorants,  who 
now  openly  threatened  to  claim  the  dead 
man's  estate  for  the  widow  and  her  son — they, 
at  least,  knew  nothing  of  the  latter's  death; 
and  then  Fanny,  coming  to  Sedgwick,  tried 
to  reassert  her  old  sovereignty  over  Merriam 
and  to  gain  possession  of  the  papers  of  which 
her  husband  had  told  her  and  which  Randy 
had  long  since  sent  to  Parry,  but  concerning 
which  she  had  never  spoken  to  her  brother- 
in -law,  believing  him  to  be  ignorant  of  their 
existence;  and  it  pleased  Ned  Parry  to  let 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  255 

her  live  on  in  ignorance  that  he  had  them. 
He  took  a  curious  interest  in  making  a 
study  of  her,  and  had,  without  consulting  his 
client,  a  more  than  professional  interest  in  the 
case. 

But  now  Bullock,  the  man  who  shot  Mo* 
Lane,  had  been  traced  to  and  arrested  in 
Chicago,  together  with  his  dashing  helpmeet. 
Uncle  Mellen  had  been  prostrated  by  paraly- 
sis as  a  result  of  the  news.  The  secret  could 
be  no  longer  kept,  and  Fanny  McLane,  hunt- 
ed, desperate,  self -deluded,  and  self -drugged, 
believed  herself  a  ruined  woman  when  at  last 
Ned  Parry  came. 

Too  ill  to  see  him,  she  seemed  at  least  re- 
lieved to  know  he  had  come,  and  that  night 
in  Graf  ton's  parlor  he  sat  gravely  listening  to 
Harriet's  recital  of  what  Fanny  had  detailed 
to  fier,  making  no  comment  but  taking  it  all 
in,  when,  just  at  tattoo,  a  trooper  dismounted 
at  the  gate  and  bore  to  Mrs.  Grafton  a  brief 
missive  from  her  husband.  It  was  written 
that  morning  nearly  twenty  miles  northwest 
of  Jose's  ranch. 

"  You  must  prepare  Merriam  for  the  worst," 


*S*  AN  ARMY  W1F&. 

it  said.  "  There  Is  reason  to  believe  poor 
Florence  has  fallen  into  the  hands  of  a  little 
band  of  Apaches.  The  sign  is  unmistakable 
and  we  are  just  starting  in  pursuit." 


Hung  reverentially  back  as  though   -waiting  permission  to  venture  intc 
the  presence  of  a  queen. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

LATE  that  anxious  night  one  battalion  of 
the  Riflers  returned  to  Sedgwick,  Hayne's 
company  one  of  the  four,  and  very  grave  he 
looked  when  told  of  the  events  of  the  past 
forty-eight  hours.  Acting  on  the  report  of 
Captain  Grafton  that  Apache  sign  had  been 
found  in  the  foothills  north  of  Jose's,  Buxton 
had  ordered  another  troop  to  march  to  rein- 
force him,  and  this  troop  Hayne  obtained 
permission  to  accompany.  It  marched  at 
dawn,  so  he  had  barely  three  hours  in  which 
to  prepare,  Mr.  Parry,  wearied  with  his  jour- 
neying and  many  cares,  had  been  escorted  to 
Merriam's  vacated  quarters  by  Whittaker 
some  little  time  before  midnight,  and  there  he 
was  made  welcome  by  Hop  Ling  and  given 
the  room  abandoned  by  the  master  of  the 
house  so  short  a  time  before.  Many  people, 
between  anxiety  as  to  the  fate  of  their  beloved 
*7  257 


258  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

Florence  and  their  eagerness  to  receive  the 
Riflers  on  their  return,  sat  up  until  two 
o'clock;  but  Parry,  though  filled  with  anxiety 
as  keen,  was  well  aware  that  nothing  was  to 
be  gained  by  his  spending  a  wakeful  night 
and  listening  to  all  manner  of  theory  as  to  the 
cause  of  the  fair  fugitive's  sudden  deflection 
from  the  road  to  the  ranch.  Hayne,  there- 
fore, did  not  meet  nor  see  him,  but,  as  soon  as 
it  was  light,  rode  forth  ahead  of  the  troop, 
meaning  to  go  first  to  Jose's,  see  his  wife 
and  Dr.  Gould,  and  then  strike  out  north- 
ward, confident  of  meeting  the  second  trooo 
somewhere  in  the  open  country  that  there 
spread  for  miles  before  him. 

Buxton  had  sent  a  party  on  the  trail  of  Mer- 
riam  within  an  hour  of  his  dash  and  with  or- 
ders to  bring  him  back  to  the  post,  but  they 
had  not  been  heard  from  since  their  start, 
"and,"  said  Whittaker,  "they're  not  likely  to 
be.  Those  fellows  barely  ride  one  mile  to 
Randy's  two.  It's  my  belief  he  will  just  pull 
up  at  Jose's  and  then  go  straight  on  to  the 
foothills,  as  probably  she  did." 

But  Randy  was  having  a  ride  the  like' of 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  259 

which  was  not  recorded  in  the  annals  of  Fort 
Sedgwick  since  the  days  when,  long  before 
the  war,  the  First  Dragoons  and  the  Navajos 
battled  for  the  mastership  of  the  Santa  Clara. 
Ignorant  as  yet  of  the  report  of  Apaches  in 
the  foothills  of  the  Mescalero,  his  one  theory 
was  that  she  had  gone  to  Jos6's,  intending 
from  there  to  push  on  to  the  cantonment. 
The  thought  of  her  daring  so  long  and  so 
hard  a  ride  at  a  time  when  she  should  be 
guarded  with  the  utmost  care  was  in  itself  a 
source  of  dire  distress  to  him,  and  he  could 
hardly  have  speeded  faster  and  with  grimmer 
determination  to  defy  all  pain  or  weariness 
had  he  dreamed  of  the  deadly  perils  that 
lurked  about  her  path.  Of  the  fact  that  Val- 
dez  and  his  few  followers  had  eventually  fled 
northward  and  across  the  road  to  the  Cata- 
mount he  had  heard  nothing.  Through 
Hop  Ling's  chatter  he  had  gathered  that 
Grafton  and  his  men  were  gone  in  search  of 
Florence  and  that  Mrs.  Hayne  and  Dr.  Gould 
were  at  Jose's.  He  dare  not  stop  to  make  in- 
quiries at  the  garrison.  He  was  under  medi- 
cal'care — therefore  under  doctor's  orders,  and 


«6o  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

on  complaint  of  the  acting  surgeon  it  would  Be 
perfectly  competent  for  Buxton  to  place  him 
in  close  arrest.  His  one  idea,  therefore,  was 
to  put  as  much  ground  as  possible  between 
the  post  and  himself.  He  knew  he  could  get 
another  horse  at  Jose's,  so  Brown  Dick  was 
never  spared  an  instant.  At  three  o'clock, 
galloping  free,  the  gallant  horse  was  stretch- 
ing away  northwestward  over  the  low,  rolling 
earth-waves  that  seemed  to  spread  to  the  very 
lap  of  the  Mescalero,  spanning  the  horizon 
toward  the  setting  sun.  Far  behind  him, 
the  scattered  ranches  and  the  sparse  green 
foliage  of  the  Santa  Clara.  Far  away  on 
either  hand,  the  lumpy,  sandy  barren,  dotted 
everywhere  with  little  dull-hued  tufts  of 
coarse  herbage  or  stunted  sage.  Ahead  of 
him  the  tortuous,  twisting,  dusty  trail,  dented 
With  scores  of  hoof-prints,  the  tracks  of  Graf- 
ton's  troop  on  its  way  to  the  rescue.  By  this 
time  Randy  was  burning  with  thirst,  but  the 
water  in  his  canteen  was  warm  and  nauseat- 
ing. He  raised  the  felt-covered  flask  to  his 
lips  from  time  to  time  and  rinsed  his  mouth 
and  moistened  his  parching  throat,  but  that 


ARMV   WIFE.  261 

• 

did  not  allay  the  craving.  He  had  still  thirty 
miles  to  go  before  he  could  reach  Jose's  and 
exchange  Brown  Dick  for  a  broncho,  and  have 
Dr.  Gould  renew  the  dressing  of  his  wounded 
arm.  He  knew  that  Florence  had  failed  to 
appear  there,  but  he  knew  her  pluck  and 
spirit,  and  believed  he  knew  the  reason — that 
there  might  be  sojourners  there  either  from 
the  Catamount  or  from  the  post  who  would 
seek  to  turn  her  back  or  hold  her  there ;  and 
he  knew  that  in  her  overwrought,  half-mad- 
dened state  she  was  starving  for  her  mother's 
petting  and  her  father's  arms.  He  knew  her 
so  well  that  any  attempt  to  dissuade  her  now 
would  result,  he  felt  assured,  only  in  frantic 
outburst  and  more  determined  effort  to  push 
ahead. 

Then  he  had  another  and  even  better  rea- 
son for  thinking  he  could  quickly  find  Mig- 
non's  trail,  although  it  might  be  miles  to  the 
north  of  Jose's.  On  their  return  from  their 
latest  visit  to  the  Catamount  they  were  hav- 
ing a  glorious  run  with  the  hounds  one  lovely 
"November  morning  and  the  jack-rabbits  led 
far  out  to  the  north  of  the  road  among 


i6*  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

the  btittes  and  bowlders  that  clustered  about 
the  course  of  a  little  stream,  barely  a  yard 
wide  anywhere,  that  rippled  out  from  among 
the  foothills  only  to  be  lost  in  the  sands  of 
the  desert  to  the  east.  One  vigorous  old  rab- 
bit, close  followed  by  the  hounds,  had  tacked 
suddenly  and  darted  up  this  narrow  valley, 
and  Floy  and  Mignon,  all  excitement,  darted 
after  him,  while  Randy,  guiding  Brown  Dick 
behind,  watched  with  fond,  proud  eyes  his 
young  wife's  graceful,  fearless  riding.  Far 
up  toward  the  head  of  the  brook  poor  jack 
had  been  tossed  in  air  by  the  pointed  muzzle 
of  his  closest  pursuer  and  then  pounced  upon 
by  the  panting  hounds,  and  Randy  found  that 
they  were  in  a  little  amphitheatre  among  the 
buttes — found  the  little  spring  in  which  the 
streamlet  had  its  birth,  and  there  they  dis- 
mounted and  unsaddled  and  let  the  horses 
roll;  and  here  they  took  their  luncheon,  and 
had  a  happy,  loving  hour,  all  alone  with  the 
horses  and  hounds  in  this  little  world  of  their 
own;  and  Floy  had  named  the  spot — a  fond, 
foolish  little  caprice,  perhaps,  and  vowed  that 
'it  was  to  be  her  refuge  by-and-by,  "This  is 


A&  ARMY  WIFE. 

where  I  am  coming  to  build  my  lonely  cloister 
one  of  these  days,  when  you  grow  weary  of 
me,  sir,"  she  had  laughingly  said.  And  now, 
as  he  plied  spurs  to  Dick's  heaving  sides, 
Randy  wondered,  wondered  whether  it  might 
not  be  that  she  had  made  that  wide  ctttour 
around  Jose's  purposely  to  find  and  revisit 
that  romantic  little  nook  and  there  pour  out 
her  grief  to  the  solitude  of  the  silent  foot- 
hills. 

At  five  o'clock  Brown  Dick  was  black  with 
sweat  and  dust  and  streaked  with  foam,  but 
still  pressed  gamely  on,  and  Randy,  with 
white,  set  face,  in  which  deep  lines  of  pain 
and  weariness  were  graving,  gazed  fixedly 
ahead  with  burning,  fevered  eyes,  conscious 
that  strength  was  failing  him  and  praying  for 
the  first  sight  of  those  dun  adobe  walls  of 
Jose's  sheltering  ranch. 

Just  at  seven  o'clock  of  the  early  winter's 
evening  the  denizens  of  Jose's  heard  the 
thud  of  horse's  hoofs  at  the  gate  and  the  hail 
of  a  feeble  voice.  Jose's  wife  at  that  moment 
was  in  half-tearful  talk  with  Mrs.  Hayne,  who 
from  dawo  till  dark  had  been  on  watch — hop- 


•6*  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

ing  against  hope  for  tidings  of  Florence,  and 
who.  now,  wearied  with  long  vigil  and  well- 
nigh  worn  out  with  anxiety,  was  lying  down 
in  search  of  sleep.  Gould,  veteran  soldier 
and  surgeon  that  he  was,  could  no  longer  bear 
the  suspense  and  inaction  at  the  ranch.  He 
had  borrowed  one  of  Jose*'s  horses,  and,  with 
a  half-breed  Mexican  for  guide,  had  ridden 
away  at  dawn,  hoping  to  strike  Graf  ton's 
trail  and  follow  him  into  the  mountains, 
whither  he  was  supposed  to  have  ridden  in 
pursuit  of  the  Apaches.  Gould  was  a  skeptic. 
He  said  he  didn't  believe  a  dozen  Apaches 
were  off  their  reservation.  He  didn't  believe 
half  a  dozen  had  ventured  over  the  New  Mex- 
ican line,  and  if  any  had  he  was  willing  to  bet 
a  month's  pay  they  were  not  hostile.  This 
was  comforting  to  Mrs.  Hayne,  but  Jose's 
people  were  not  so  easily  cured  of  their  con- 
viction. By  the  time  the  rumor  reached  the 
ranch,  brought  in  by  stampeded  herdsmen,  no 
one  of  whom  had  seen  an  Indian  but  each  of 
whom  could  tell  tremendous  tales  of  their  do- 
ings in  the  valley,  it  was  declared  that  at  least 
fifty  of  Victorio's  old  band  were  raiding  the 


ARMY  WIFE.  265 

Santa  Clara  and  might  be  expected  to  assault 
Jose's  at  any  moment.  The  corral  was  filled, 
therefore,  with  scraggy  cow  ponies  and 
swarthy  men,  and  the  sight  of  an  officer,  one- 
armed,  pallid,  exhausted,  reeling  earthward 
from  an  equally  exhausted  steed,  was  all  that 
was  necessary  to  complete  the  panic.  Over 
half  the  Mexicans  present  made  a  mad  rush 
for  the  subterranean  refuge  known  as  the 
"dug-out,"  and  but  for  a  couple  of  troopers 
who  had  put  into  Jose's  with  lamed  and  use- 
less horses  Randy  would  have  gone  headlong 
to  the  ground.  They  caught  him  just  in  time, 
and  bore  him  inside  the  ranch,  where  the 
sight  of  his  death-like  face  drove  Jose  almost 
frantic.  But  the  troopers  knew  what  to  do 
for  their  officer  and  speedily  brought  him 
round,  and  when  he  asked  for  Dr.  Gould 
they  told  him  of  his  going,  and  Randy's  next 
demand  was  for  coffee  and  a  fresh  horse. 

And  while  he  was  sipping  the  coffee  and 
resting  on  a  bunk  in  the  main  room,  Mrs. 
Hayne  came  hastening  in  with  outstretched 
hands  and  eyes  still  dim  with  weeping.  She 
was  shocked  at  his  haggard  appearance.  She 


ARMY  WIFE. 

could  only  press  his  band  in  silent  sympathy 
and  struggle  hard  to  beat  back  the  tears  that 
would  have  flowed  afresh.  "You  will  stay 
here  with  us  now  until  Dr.  Gould  returns," 
she  said.  "  I  look  for  him  any  moment." 

"I?  No,  indeed.  I  go  on  at  once,  as  soon 
as  they  can  saddle  a  fresh  horse  for  me.  She 
must  be  more  than  half-way  to  the  cantonment 
by  this  time,  if  Mignon  hasn't  given  out." 

And  then  Mrs.  Hayne  sobbed  aloud.  "  Oh, 
Randy,  Randy!  Haven't  you  heard?  Floy 
never  regained  the  road  at  all.  The  mail  car- 
rier from  Catamount  got  in  an  hour  ago  and 
saw  nothing  whatever  of  her." 

"  Then  I  know  where  to  find  her,  •  said  Ran- 
dy promptly.  "  A  lovely  spot  we  visited  to- 
gether hardly  a  month  ago,  and  I  could  find 
it  easily  after  moonrise." 

But  Mrs.  Hayne  only  sobbed  the  more. 
How  could  she  tell  him  ?  Yet  it  had  to  be. 

"God  grant  it,"  she  cried.  "God  grant  rH 
But,  oh,  my  friend,  we've  had  a  dreadful 
fright!  Captain  Grafton's  men  struck  an 
Apache  trail  yesterday,  and  they  are  follow* 
ing  it  fast  as  they  can  go  at  this  moment." 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  JO? 

And  with  that  announcement  vanished  all 
thought  of  further  rest  for  him.  Bidding  the 
two  troopers  saddle  anything  on  four  legs  that 
could  carry  them,  he  sprang  forth  into  the  still 
and  radiant  night  and  was  astride  his  mon- 
grel mount  in  a  twinkling.  In  vain  Mrs. 
Hayne  came  out  and  pleaded  with  him ;  Mer- 
riam  would  listen  to  nothing — nothing  but 
tidings  of  Florence.  It  was  barely  eight 
o'clock  when,  fully  armed,  the  little  party 
rode  swiftly  away  under  the  northward  stars, 
following  an  old  trail  that  led  to  the  upper 
foothills  of  the  Mescalero.  They  were  not 
half  an  hour  gone  when  a  sergeant  and  two 
men  rode  in  from  the  west,  inquiring  for  Dr. 
Gould  and  Mrs.  Hayne.  They  were  three  of 
Grafton's  men  sent  back  from  the  chase  to  say 
they  were  hot  on  the  trail.  There  were  five 
Apaches  afoot  and  one  shod  horse — so  the 
traces  told  infallibly.  Florence,  then,  was 
probably  bound  a  prisoner  on  that  horse,  and 
Grafton  would  recapture  her  or  lose  every 
horse  and  man  in  the  attempt. 

And  if  that  night  was  one  of  dread  and  de- 
jection at  the  ranch,  what  must  it  have  been 


A*XY  WIFR. 

to  Merriam,  reeling  and  well-nigh  exhaust- 
ed, yet  riding  grimly,  desperately  forward 
through  the  long  hours,  searching  vainly, 
vainly  under  the  wan  moonlight,  even  along 
into  the  pallid  dawn,  for  that  little  cleft  in 
the  foothills  Floy  had  named  "Mon  Abri," 
Faint  and  shimmering  the  day-beams  came  at 
last,  and  then,  and  not  until  then,  Murdock,  a 
faithful  trooper,  now  riding  by  his  lieuten- 
ant's side  and  supporting  him  with  his  arm, 
turned  to  his  comrade,  who,  dismounted,  was 
striving  with  the  aid  of  a  match  or  two  to 
study  some  hoof-prints  they  had  found  in 
the  soft  surface.  "Jimmy,"  he  whispered, 
"there's  something  moving  along  that  ridge 
yonder — coming  this  way.  What  is  it?" 

And  though  soft  the  whisper  it  caught  poor 
Randy's  drowsy  ear,  and  he  strove  to  straight- 
en up  in  saddle.  "What?  Where?"  he 
faintly  asked. 

"Yonder,  sir,  not  half  a  mile  away.  It's 
some  of  our  fellows,  or  I'm  a  duffer.  Yell  to 
'em,  Jimmy." 

And  obedient  to  the  word  Jimmy  yelled. 
Over  the  rolling  surface  the  soldier's  voice 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  269 

went  ringing  through  the  dawn,  and  echo 
sent  it  clattering  back  from  the  bnites  and 
bowlders  to  the  west.  "This  way,  you  fel- 
lers!-— this  way!"  he  cried,  and  then,  mount- 
ing, clapped  spurs  to  his  pony  and  sputtered 
away  down  the  intervening  swale. 

Ten  minutes  later  Randy  Merriam  was  ly- 
ing on  the  ground  in  a  swoon,  and  George 
Graf  ton,  with  grave,  sad  face,  well-nigh  as 
haggard  as  the  lieutenant's,  was  bending  over 
him  and  striving  to  force  some  brandy  down 
his  throat.  Following  "for  all  they  were 
worth"  the  Apache  trail,  they  had  overhauled 
the  supposed  marauders  not  twenty  miles 
back  in  the  foothills — a  pacific  hunting-party, 
provided  with  the  agency  pass  and  safeguard, 
and  culpable  only  in  that  they  had  come  too 
far  and  had  picked  up  on  the  plains  an  Amer- 
ican horse,  abandoned  at  sight  of  them  by 
some  Mexicans,  who  galloped  far  away;  and 
that  American  horse,  minus  saddle  and  bridle, 
was  Floy's  pretty  bay  mare,  Mignon. 

Then  where  in  heaven's  name  was  she? 

It  was  some  minutes  before  Merriam  re- 
nvecj.  Then  he  strove  to  stagger  to  his  feet, 


ajt  AN  ARMY    WIFE. 

but  fell  helplessly  back.  It  was  nearly  broad 
daylight,  but  the  sun  was  still  below  the  dis- 
tant Guadaloupe.  Gathering  his  feeble  ener- 
gies, Randy  strove  to  describe  the  littlr  cove 
and  to  implore  Grafton  to  bear  him  thither, 
and  was  interrupted  by  an  eager  sergeanu 
who  said:  "We  passed  just  such  a  brook,  sir, 
not  a  mile  back.  Shall  I  take  half-a-dozen 
men  and  follow  it  up?" 

"Yes,  at  once,"  said  Grafton,  "and  I'll  go, 
too.  Stay  here,  Randy."  Indeed,  the  cau- 
tion was  not  needed,  for  Merriam  was  past 
moving  now,  poor  fellow,  and  his  head  sank 
helplessly  back  upon  the  soldier's  supporting 
arm.  And  then  they  rode  away,  Grafton  and 
half-a-dozen  of  his  men,  with  Mignon,  leg 
weary  and  reluctant,  trailing  behind.  And 
meantime  the  troop  dismounted  and  set  about 
making  coffee,  while  one  orderly  rode  back  on 
the  trail  to  summon  Dr.  Gould,  jogging  wear- 
ily a  mile  behind.  And  presently  the  doctor 
came  and  knelt  by  Randy's  side  and  scolded 
through  his  set  teeth,  even  while  he  skilfully 
stripped  away  the  hunting-shirt  and  so  reached 
the  shattered  arm. 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  271 

Then  came  the  glorious  sunshine  streaming 
over  the  Guadaloupe  and  gilding  the  west- 
ward Mescalero,  and  then  far  out  among  the 
buttes,  one — two — three,  at  regular  intervals, 
the  ringing,  echoing  signals  of  the  cavalry 
carbine;  and  rough-garbed  troopers  sprang  to 
their  feet  and  shouted  loud,  and  clapped  ball 
cartridge  into  the  brown  bellies  of  their  guns, 
and  fired  unlicensed  salvos  into  the  air,  and 
danced  and  swung  their  hats,  and  drew  coarse 
flannel  shirt-sleeves  across  their  blinking  eyes 
—all  at  Sergeant  Hogan's  jubilant  cry,  "  My 
God,  boys,  they've  found  her!" 

Found  her  they  had,  indeed,  curled  up  like 
a  child,  wrapped  in  her  own  pet  Navajo  blan- 
ket, sleeping  the  sleep  of  utter  exhaustion, 
and  waking  only  to  burst  into  tears  of  relief 
and  joy  at  sight  of  Grafton's  radiant  yet  hag- 
gard face ;  then  roused  to  instant  action  by  the 
tidings  he  bore  and  gently,  but  reproachfully, 
told  her— that,  though  sorely  wounded  and  well- 
nigh  exhausted,  it  was  Randy  who  guided  the 
rescuers  to  her,  and  who  now  lay  prostrate 
and  unconscious  barely  a  mile  away.  Then 
she  could  hardly  wait  for  them  to  saddle  Mig- 


272  AN  ARMY   WIFE. 

non—  could  hardly  urge  her  laboring  favorite 
fast  enough  to  match  her  mad  impatience.  It 
was  a  sight  to  move  a  heart  of  flint  to  see  her, 
as  with  streaming  eyes  and  convulsive  sobs 
she  threw  herself  from  her  saddle,  and,  reck- 
less of  them  all,  knelt  and  gathered  Randy's 
unconscious  head  to  her  bosom,  cooing  over 
him,  crying  over  him,  praying  over  him,  beg- 
ging for  one  word  of  love  and  pardon,  then 
showering  tears  and  kisses  on  his  pallid  lips. 
There  was  no  crime  of  which  the  poor  child 
did  not  accuse  herself,  for  on  their  hurried 
way  Graf  ton  gravely  told  hei  of  Randy's 
utter  innocence  and  of  his  own  culpability. 
Not  until  the  radiant  sun  was  nearly  an  hour 
high  did  their  patient  seem  to  respond  to  stim- 
ulant or  caress;  but  at  last,  to  her  wild  joy,  he 
opened  his  eyes  a  little  moment,  looked  up  in 
her  face,  whispered,  "Florence, — sweetheart," 
and  then  seemed  to  drop  away  into  resistless 
slumber. 

'*  A  pretty  time  we  had,"  said  Gould,  "get- 
ting that  pair  of  spoons  back  to  Jose's!"  It 
was  an  all-day's  job,  between  waiting  for  the 
ambulance  and  then  finding  an  easy  road  for 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  tf3 

it.  But  then*  at  Jose's  were  "the  spoons" 
condemned  to  stay  four  days  and  nights,  at 
least,  while  the  rest  of  Sedgwick's  scouting 
parties  drifted  back  to  the  post,  and  there  pre- 
sumably Florence  made  her  peace  with  her 
lover  lord,  and  wept  gallons  of  salt  tears  as 
she  told  him  how  wicked — wicked—-wicked 
she  had  been,  and  how  penitent  she  was  and 
how  severely  punished,  though  never  so  se- 
verely as  she  deserved.  She  would  listen  to 
no  condoning  words  of  Mrs.  Hayne.  She 
flung  herself  into  her  father's  arms  when, 
white-faced  and  ten  years  aged,  he  reached 
her  at  the  ranch,  and  told  him  what  a  fiend 
she  had  been  and  what  an  angel  Randy— a 
statement  the  captain  could  not  entirely  in- 
dorse, for  he  went  back  to  the  cantonment  at 
the  end  of  the  week  confident  still  that  there 
must  have  been  something  in  Randy's  con- 
duct to  undermine  the  faith  of  such  an  unus- 
ual girl  as  his  Brownie.  But  he  did  not  say 
so — it  would  have  done  no  good. 

And  her  story  was  very  simple.     Nearmg 
the  ranch  early  in  the  first  afternoon,  she  saw 

a  party  of  horsemen  riding  in  toward  it,  and 
it 


174  AN  ARMY  WIFE. 

in  her  half-crazed  state  she  believed  them 
troops  from  the  post — Randy's  men.  So  she 
turned  square  to  the  north  and  rode  for  the 
foothills.  She  had  a  little  store  of  provisions 
and  some  wine  in  the  large  saddle-pouch,  and 
only  then  discovered  that  her  bag  was  gone. 
She  could  ride  away  round  the  ranch,  find 
"Mon  Abri,"  and  hide  there  during  the  night. 
She  had  her  Navajo  blanket.  Mignon  would 
have  grass  and  water.  What  more  could 
army  girl  ask  in  that  warm  and  rainless  re- 
gion? Before  sunset  she  had  found  the  ro- 
mantic little  spot,  unsaddled  and  picketed 
Mignon,  and  later  moved  her  farther  down 
stream  for  fresh  grass,  and  then,  wearied,  she 
herself  slept  for  hours;  and  when  she  awoke 
and  would  have  pushed  on  to  the  cantonment, 
lot  Mignon  was  gone.  Florence  had  heard 
no  sound.  She  could  not  account  for  it.  She 
could  only  sit  and  brood  and  think,  and  then, 
as  the  long,  long  day — the  second  day — drew 
to  its  close,  pray  heaven  for  Randy's  coming. 
There,  more  surely  than  anywhere  else,  if  he 
loved  her,  his  love  would  lead  him. 
What  days  of  jubilee  there  were  at  Sedg* 


AN  ARMY  WIFE.  275 

wick  when  at  last  Randy  was  convalescent 
enough  to  be  moved,  and  the  ambulance 
brought  him  back  through  the  same  old  hole 
in  the  fence,  Florence  seated  by  his  side. 
Another  patient  was  out  on  a  piazza,  farther 
down  the  row,  taking  the  sweet  fresh  air  and 
listening  languidly  to  the  purring  of  Minturn, 
who  still  worshipped  at  the  shrine  deserted 
by  Whittaker.  Undeniably  sallow  looked  the 
Widow  McLane,  and  her  eyes  gazed  but  Ian- 

J& 

guidly  at  the  joyous  little  cortege  entering  the 
westward  end  of  the  road.  Captain  and  Mrs. 
Grafton,  the  Haynes,  and  other  sympathizing 
friends  had  flocked  thither  to  welcome  the  fu- 
gitives, and  so  it  happened  that  there  was  no 
one  at  home  but  Mrs.  McLane  and  a  much  per- 
turbed young  battery  officer  to  greet  two 
somewhat  dusty  civilians,  who  had  just  driven 
out  from  the  Junction,  and  now  slowly  as- 
cended the  Graf  tons'  steps.  One — Mr.  Parry 
— came  jauntily  forward.  The  other — a  mut- 
ton-chop whiskered,  plethoric-looking  party- 
hung  reverentially  back,  as  though  waiting 
permission  to  venture  into  the  presence  ol 
A  queen.  With  swift  anxious.  Imploring 


glance  the  invalid  searched  the  impassive 
features  of  her  exasperating  brother-in-law 
and  read  no  hope ;  but  even  from  the  depth  of 
her  despond  sprang  something  of  her  old-time 
coquetry  as  she  languidly  lay  back  in  the  easy- 
chair  and  extended  a  slender,  bejewelled  hand 
to  the  adoring  Swinburne.  The  battery  man 
bowed  stiffly  and  pulled  at  his  mustache  in 
recognition  of  this  new  arrival,  and  Ned  Parry 
almost  audibly  chuckled  his  enjoyment  of  the 
situation.  Then  stable  call  sounded  and  drew 
the  warrior  away  and  left  the  field  in  the 
hands  of  the  civilian,  and  then  Parry  decided 
he  must  "join  the  gang"  at  Merriam's;  and 
there  presently  he  was  patting  Randy  on  the 
back  and  showing  symptoms  of  a  desire  to 
kiss  Mrs.  Randy's  hand,  as  he  did  Mrs.  Graf- 
ton's.  Mrs.  Grafton  hurried  out,  declaring 
she  must  go  and  order  more  dinner,  whereat 
Parry  followed  her  to  the  gate  and  called  a 
halt.  She  saw  the  twinkle  in  his  eyes  and 
stopped. 

"  You* ve  brought  her  good  news,  I  know/ 
said  she,  with  womanly  eagerness. 

"More   than   that,"   said    Parry,   with  a   comi- 


AN  ARMY   WIFE.  277 

cal  grin.  "  More  than  Fan  deserves  by  a  good 
deal — I've  brought  the  fellow  that  brings  her 
the  news.  Never  mind  dinner — give  him  ten 
minutes." 

"Oh,  how  did  you  get  at  the  truth?" 

"I  didn't— 7  couldn't.  They  were  shy  of 
me  as  though  I'd  been  a  Pinkertdn.  I  knew 
Swinburne  was  sore-smitten.  I  knew  he'd 
blow  in  his  whole  bank  account  if  need  be. 
I  told  him  the  story  and  my  suspicions,  and 
set  him  to  work.  He  found  the  engineer  and 
got  the  proofs.  She  owes  her  deliverance  to 
him." 

"  Then  it  was  as  you  thought — as  you  told 
Captain  Grafton?" 

"Certainly.  Mrs.  McLane  No.  i  died  two 
months  after  she  got  her  twenty-five  thousand 
dollars,  but  the  family  couldn't  afford  to  lose 
so  fruitful  a  member.  They  had  read  and 
written  each  others'  letters  from  childhood. 
Either  surviving  sister  could  write  just  as  well 
as  the  youngest.  They  planned  the  game; 
they  fooled  McLane  completely,  and  they  as 
completely  deceived  poor  young  Jack,  the 
only  reputable  connection  they  had.  Fan's 


AKMY   WIPE. 

all  right  now,  thanks  to  Swinburne.  Let  him 
oe  happy  for  ten  minutes — she'll  make  him 
miserable  the  rest  of  his  life.  Let's  go  back 
and  look  at  a  picture  of  absolute  bliss — Floy 
Merriam's  face.  Isn't  she  an  ideal  army 
wife?" 


THE  END. 


21-95m-7,'37 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


